A New Beginning: A Ratchet & Clank 4 Novel
by Black Rosettes
Summary: AN: I'm currently on hiatus, trying to keep up with my occupation. Yes, it's very tiring work. Upon my return, expect an increase of eighty thousand words. Moreover, Angela Cross and the Manhunters will return.
1. C1: Of Good Times and Bad

**Disclaimer:** The characters, locations, and everything else borrowed from the Ratchet & Clank games are copyright of Insomniac Games. None of these aforementioned things are any of my original ideas, so no copyright infringement intended. However, the original characters and plot are mine, and are not to be used without my permission.

**Author's Notes:** This fiction is not exactly a novel that ends (for the time being, anyway), but more along the lines of a prologue of other stories to come and fill in the gaps. This here serves more of a back story to set the mood, the topic, and the main characters that will be featured heavily in future works related to this one. My goal is to create something that would be like a new Ratchet & Clank 4 game. In other words, I want to make a story that could be considered epic. In my attempt to accomplish this, I hope you enjoy this first story of mine and the inclination of my experimental idea, because I promise you the subsequent chapters and future short stories will be action-packed and worthwhile to read. And, as always, reviews, compliments, and constructive criticism are very much appreciated. But let it be known right off the bat . . . _I write this story for **me**_--not for the fans of the games.

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter One

"The Beginning: Of Good Times and Bad"

_Written by Black Rosettes_

**23:34 - Planet Todano, Megacorp Armory, Bogon Galaxy**

Among the shrouds of darkness, a sly shadow, with a physique between medium and thick, garbed in light clothing and a mask, swiftly crept among the thickets and trees like an apparition. The only signs of the figure's presence was the sight of swaying blades of grass on which he walked that sometimes could be heard, but faintly, as the masked unknown slunk with an expert, if not almost perfectly maneuverable style. Only the dim glow of the pale moon high above shone which direction the person was going.

The mysterious figure finally made it to his destination after effortlessly shaping his invisible path behind him to the armored door which belonged to one of Megacorp's profoundly massive and prestigious armories. It seemed this person was a kind of thief, and one who wasn't about to let his endeavor go unrewarded.

Motioning mindfully toward a street lamp that hummed and projected a circular glow on the concrete surface, the thief placed his back against a far side wall, waiting for two of the unsuspecting guards to lure themselves into his trap.

"Did you hear, Ronald? That new prototype will be distributed from Megacorp factories in a few days," mentioned a guard to his partner.

"Yeah, I just heard that earlier today. I could definitely use it in my house! Of all the things this company comes up with..." said the other, twirling his truncheon in an absent-minded manner.

The two reptilian guards drew closer to the thief's location, but the figure remained docile in the blanket of his darkness. Feeling a sort of pebble beneath his boot, he reached down and acquired it in one silent, smooth motion, without removing his eyes from the guards. And with rock in partially gloved hand, where the fingertips were cut off, he pinched it in between his thumb and middle finger as if to discard it with a flick. That was exactly what he did--toward a security camera that swiveled slowly, only taking in the first few feet around the steel doors. A card reader could be seen somewhat embedded into the rock structure of the building near the entrance.

The guards' idle conversation stopped abruptly at the unexpected sound of something clanking against the camera in front of them.

"Did you hear that?" said one of them.

Together, they moved cautiously toward it, inspecting the area around the entrance with their clubs ready.

"Yeah, it sounded like something struck the camera,"--one guessed--"and look there. A small rock. Hm. That's so weird."

The security guards in black uniform stopped a few feet away from the door. One of them reached down and cupped the rock in his scaly hand, opening it again to show his friend. With their attentions on the rock and, rather conveniently the camera lens having turned away from them, the guest made his dramatic appearance behind them with two hands already outstretched. With a successful grasp the two heads were forcibly pushed together, instantly rendering both unconscious, and then their bodies were dragged away and out of sight of the camera as it returned to the center of the entrance pathway.

The camera had captured nothing out of the ordinary save for two guards who must have walked out of view within several seconds.

The thief hid the bodies behind a thick bush, stripping one of them of their uniform, and then placing the nearest foliage over their bodies to conceal them from the moonlight. He quickly pulled on the guard's uniform, removed his makeshift mask, pulled on a cap and armed himself with the same nightstick. Now the intruder looked like one of the faithful employees of Megacorp. Removing a key card clipped on the chest pocket of his new outfit, he held it low at his side and stepped into the viewpoint of the camera, swiping the card in one fluid motion.

The card reader chimed and the double steel reinforced door began to pull itself open, revealing a vivid beam of yellowish light. It seemed the more the door open, the more the light encompassed the scene, including the villain whose silhouette had already begun to fade out as he stepped forth and entered one of the most renowned armories this side of the Bogon galaxy.

**10:53 - Planet Yeedil, Megacorp HQ, Bogon Galaxy**

The following morning was when the ever famous founder of Megacorp, Abercrombie Fizzwidget, learned of the atrocious burglary, and by whom only having pilfered some of the latest gadgets and weaponry. He was taken aback by the news. It was more devastating than the time he was prisoner in one of his company closets. Nevertheless, the old thought made the old man cringe a little at the sudden reminiscence.

He sat behind his oversized desk that was lightly decorated with the simplest of office things: a desktop computer; a florescent lamp; a miniature monitor accompanied by its sleek base; paperweight, and an all-in-one printer. File cabinets had been placed at arm's length on both sides of him for easy access and, by his right side, sat a quiet and small refrigerator. Behind him and his luxurious leather chair was an impressive rectangular picturesque window, suited with automatic blinds of equal size, which gave him a beautiful vantage point of the happenings outside of the towering skyscraper. Sitting by the door of his office was a large and rather aesthetic plant that could be easily admired, and beside it some foot away was a small receptacle.

In one hand he held his mug of coffee and in the other a donut. Eating sweets and drinking a warm drink was always the thing to settle his mind. On his computer screen, where his eyes were fixed, a security video replayed the events of the night before. He found it hard to believe that there was nothing out of the ordinary, no sign of a struggle. There was, however, one particular thing on the video that captured a sudden disappearance of two guards, having been replaced with a person whose face could not been seen clearly, for a guard's cap concealed everything but the individual's mouth. What was more of a mystery was that the guard's tail was absent. What kind of person was this? There were other video feeds to be seen.

After reviewing the first video file sent all the way from Todano, he placed his drink down, finished his donut with a final bite, and then rose slowly from his chair. Opening a drawer in his desk, he reached in and removed a binder. He scanned over the documents inside, gave a content nod, and then sealed the files away as he shifted from behind his desk. He then reached for his office phone, pressed a button, and waited for an answer.

A feminine voice answered. "Yes, Mr. Fizzwidget? May I help you?"

The old man cleared his throat, "Ms. Noodlebottom, are we on schedule as planned for the upcoming prototype?"

"On schedule, sir."

"Stupendous! Keep me posted, young lady. Amercrombie, out."

He placed the phone back on its holder, and then made his way toward his office door. He had someone he wanted to have a word with, because there were two big things that were to happen to the company really soon--new inventions that would put the corporation further up the top of the line when it came to household appliances and personal security. Megacorp, after all, was all about being creative with the things already available in everyday life.

Down in the genetics department of Megacorp HQ, particularly in the area where the recently redesigned Protopet was being created, one talented geneticist was already hard at work, pushing herself to the limits to keep ahead of the competition. Angela Cross. As the leading geneticist and one of the original proponents of the company, she had been charged with the development of the newest biological project. The project was supposed to be something similar to the first protopet, but even better and more efficient in every way. It was unclear whether or not this new pet would be sold to complement the original one.

A team of fellow researchers were walking aimlessly around the large laboratory with clipboards in hand. Dressed in long, flowing white lab coats and sometimes wearing safety goggles, they examined the various creatures kept in water tanks and capsules. The only other person who never really moved around as much as them was Cross. She preferred to keep her mind on one thing at a time, and recording everything on her portable computer. Just as always, she stood slouched over a microscope, with her elbows propped atop the station table. Her laptop beside her had been left alone for so long that it fell asleep, sometimes even waking itself up to play a screen saver.

Engrossed in what she was studying from the lens of the microscope, she would on occasion shift weight on one leg to the other, almost unconsciously, and use her fingers to turn the dials on the scope for magnification. What she saw was promising because she finally moved from the microscope to record her findings on her laptop, bringing it back to a spreadsheet littered with all kinds of complex mathematic algorithms and scientific expressions.

"Yes, yes!" she said. "_Prototype-X_ is coming along rather nicely."

While typing in her statistics from memory, a researcher called out to her. The sound of his footsteps gathered in her ears, and they were just one of many things that were the normal sounds in the lab.

"Dr. Cross, we're ready to test out the first phase of the Prototype-X creature. Let's see how the mutant strain reacts to environmental change and personal contact. This should be most fascinating!" the researcher beamed, folding his arms and awaiting the project lead to turn around.

Cross simply threw her head back to reposition her ponytail.

She finished her business on the computer and turned sharply on a heel. "All right, let's see what this creature can do."

Together, they walked over to one glass window that was considerably wide and beyond which lied a testing room with two researchers already inside; and between them was the new experiment. Angela brought up both of her gloved hands, turned them into fist as the anticipation of success in her mind grew. Her jade eyes naturally fell on the way the creature looked, behaved.

The creature was aptly named Prototype-X, because it was the second creature that showed some promise in its design. Its name, however, would be changed before shipment. Unlike its cute and furry predecessor, this new experiment boasted a more flamboyant coat of fuzz, had pointed ears very much like a domesticated animal, one small, almost triangular red eye, whiskers on both sides of its oblong head, and the strangest and yet cutest, small lips that would spread into a gracile smile. And atop its furry head stood a similar antenna as the original protopet's, a blue dot at its tip, that would sporadically flicker to express its current emotion. It was very similar to the Protopet, but it never needed to eat, had only the simplest emotions, and definitely could not reproduce. Megacorp had obviously learned from their previous mistakes with the original pet.

With the prototype placed on a table, two researchers tested the tolerance of the creature, using all sorts of things...from prickly needles to heat to electricity. The adorable creature practically withstood the hypotheses put against it.

The researchers, finished with the beast, turned to Angela and waited for a response. Just as the geneticist was about to give new orders, Fizzwidget entered the laboratory, walking at a calm pace. Gesturing for the experimenters within the testing room to remain where they were, she turned and greeted him.

"Mr. Wizzwidget? Hi! I didn't expect you to pay an unexpected visit, and so soon. I was just in the middle of--" she paused, as the old man wrapped an arm around the small of her back and pulled her away from the others. This type of gesture was very uncharacteristic of the founder, but the others took it as a hint not to bother them.

"Ms. Cross, it's so very nice to see you again. I was just so flabbergasted by this morning's news that I had forgotten to call ahead of time." His voice became soft and patient. "Listen, there has been a terrible robbery committed from right under our very noses. This is all very shocking. This meticulous thief even injured several of the company's guards in the act, but they survived."

To express certain awe she brought a hand to his lips, flattened her pointy ears back, and widened her eyes a little.

"That's just terrible, sir. Do we know who is behind this theft?"

A look of disbelief materialized on the old man's face.

"Unfortunately, I am afraid not. Our cameras could not detect the thief's face. My dear, no need to worry, an investigation is already underway to apprehend this thief. I have already dispatched an experienced team of trackers for the job."

"I see, sir. Is there anything that I can do to help?"

Abercrombie looked over her for a moment and mused to himself.

"Perhaps you could review these video copies from the Todano vidtapes and see if you can spot something our people could not? That would be most helpful, deary."

Reluctant at first to accept the small media disks from him, she took them and stared down at them in indecisiveness.

At this, Fizzwidget gave her a soft pat on her shoulder, rousing her from her thoughts, and then promptly made his way out of the laboratory. Meanwhile, happening right behind her, one of the testers, out of boredom, began to shine a small flashlight into the experiment's eyes to check its one, giant pupil.

Angela slowly turned, to stand askew, in time to see a different reaction from Prototype-X. It seemed the experiment had a weakness after all. The flashlight that was deliberately agitating the creature was suddenly swallowed by it, after it had thoroughly wrapped its extremely scary, spiked and long tongue around the device. At this, the tester withdrew his hand in shock, massaging it as if it too had gotten caught in the depths of the beast's maw.

"We found its soft spot...photosensitivity," said the tester.

Angela gave a nod and soughed softly. "We need to fix that. I think."

She turned her attention back at her work station. Moving to it, so she could gather her things, she slid a slender finger across the touch pad of her laptop, and it returned to her spreadsheet. The laptop unexpectedly closed the important program and on her desktop there was an image she had gotten off the net from a news article; it was an image of Ratchet, the short lombax with Clank strapped onto his back. Why she had placed it on her desktop, she didn't really know, but seeing it every now and again brought back old memories of their awkward times together. And to think, she mused, that he almost bashed her with his wrench before...when she feigned to be the Unknown.

The thought of that little incident near the frozen base on Siberius brought an uncontrollable and nefarious smile across her face.

_Oh, Ratchet._

**17:13 - Planet Grelbin, Tundor Wastes, Bogon Galaxy**

Back home after a long and exhaustive work day, it was pouring chunky flakes of snow as it has always done at Tundor Wastes. It was late in the afternoon when Angela's ship landed on her very own launch port, although small it proved most convenient for someone who did a lot of traveling.

When the canopy hissed open, ice crystals greeted her face. She leapt out of the ship with such grace her boots hardly made any sound in the snow, or at least because of the bustling gusts of wind had totally blocked it out. A few, to several, inches of snow--heaps here and there--covered the port. The wind sounded monstrously loud from the direction it blew hardest. Still fitted in her work clothes, she was beginning to become numb all over, so she skipped quickly through the snow-covered landing zone, trying not to trip.

The glimpse of a bonfire from afar caught her attention. Out several yards lived the only other person who could speak her language--the old and sage Mystic. Unfortunately, because of the harsh conditions of this particular day, the old man was nowhere to be seen. Despite his absence, he always had his fire lasting through the night, with the kettle hanging on a stick over the flames of the fire.

Angela wondered for a moment where the Mystic was, but she guessed he probably went for a walk among the dangerous snowbeasts--furry, feral creatures that always gave a good chase in search for food. If that was the case, then she was certain that if he risked the chance with fate, it was because he wanted to find more of those valuable moonstones.

Reaching the entrance to her dome-like home, she inserted a personal keycard into a slot reader on the side, and then the electronic device gave a repetitious beep as the internal locking mechanism of the double door clicked open. Entering her home every time gave her nostrils a new kind of smell. Even though it was basically her natural aroma, it was always trapped in the items that adorned her small home.

"Lights on."

Almost immediately, several lights fitted onto the ceiling flickered to life, lighting the path down a long hall to her bedroom. There, standing at the foot of her bed, she slid off her lab coat and dropped it onto the floor, and removed other articles. She desired a warm bath, something to elevate her mood.

In the warm water steam billowed from its surface and the smooth contours of her body. The water had a lathery feel to it, making it all the more soothing. With her eyes closed, she reached behind her head and undid her headband, allowing her hair to descend to her shoulders in a tangly mess. Thereafter, she slowly slid deeper into the tub, bending her knees, the only part of her that broke the water's stillness, and soon she allowed the rest of her upper body to be soaked. From beneath the pool, she reopened her eyes, slowly, and stared off into the bathroom's metallic ceiling, holding her breath for however long she could.

She began thinking about the past. She remembered everything in fine detail, and all the things she did to try and ensure the safety of her galaxy, that is, until he, the lombax from an entirely different quadrant of another galaxy, interloped with the simple mission. Oh, how the boy gave her such grief over her own design, her own creation. At first, that brought back a forgotten sense of loathing for the hero. _Why did he have to come along and screw everything up? _she thought. Then she reminded herself that in spite she had lost the experiment to him, she did prove a worthy adversary as the Thief.

Their battle was a golden moment in her life, a sort of turning point too. It was the first time someone had ever challenged her authority in a matter. The lombax was tenacious in getting the _job_ done. She reminisced how the lombax angrily bit his lip when she taunted him after he made a lunge for her. _Too slow, you corporate lackey, _a sentence she repeated in her mind. But she could still see the lombax climbing a series of ladders to reach the top of the heliport--the rendezvous point. Once he got there, he took aim at her with his _big weapon_, but missed because of the dexterity of her foot-worn flying glider; it was simply too quick for him. She even sent wave after wave of thugs after him, and still he defeated every one of them. Then the lombax shot everything he had at her, and yet he did not capture her after it was over. He let her go. That had to mean something.

Angela surfaced to breathe, massaged her eyes, and then soughed deeply. She looked around the bathroom, looking for answers to her questions. Looking into the mirror across from the tub, although she could not see herself, she saw an image of Ratchet with a sheepish grin.

"I can't believe I sent him a Balloon-O-Gram," she muttered. "Told him where I lived."

Another memory came back to her and one that would make her feel a bit disgruntled. It was already bad enough that she had given up _her_ experiment, _lost_ to him in battle, and then he did what she half-expected. He _saved_ her; and, after all of that fighting on Snivelak, he had _forgotten_ about her. How can one be so selfless and mindless in unison? _Yeah, that was what he was._

It seemed even during her baths she couldn't get the lombax out of her mind; the thought of him sometimes piqued her, bringing forth emotions she would have never believed she had. It later became evident that she possessed hidden emotions for her savior, even if some of those same feelings had been preconceived resentment. Was he such a bad person? These thoughts came and went suddenly, and she somehow found herself lying on her bed, dressed only in her regular clothing: a matching, tight-fitting flight suit. In one hand, a finger gently swirled atop the furry head of her personal, the original Protopet.

The little blue creature seemed to purr given by the vibrations that were being felt from it. Its little antenna bounced softly, and its little feet shuffled to show its pleasure. Angela seemed unmindful while playing with her pet, but then a thought brought her back to reality.

"Hey, those viddiscs..." she said, getting up and retrieving the clothes she left on the floor. She found the discs within the deep pockets of her lab coat. Discs in hand, she dropped the uniform back on the floor and hopped onto her bed, crawling over to a night stand where she had a vidplayer. Inserting the first compact disc, she watched the small holovid that brightened into a miniature projection screen. She watched the security feed carefully, placing a finger against her chin.

"Hm... what do we have here? Someone that's better than me?" she joked, laughing inwardly.

She noticed the two guards approaching the main entrance camera of the armory, seemingly talking to each other, and then stopping short at the front of the facility. A few seconds after the angle of the security camera motioned to the side, looking into a trimmed yard, a blur, the majority of it cut from the screen, mysteriously appeared. Seeing there was something wrong with that, she rewound a few seconds, paused at the first sight of it and studied it closely.

"So there was another person there with the guards. But how did he, or she, know to..."

She played the video and noticed that the two guards were gone. There was no other person in front of the building for at least a minute. Then came someone that appeared to be another guard where the other two once stood. What was stranger was that the person just casually walked from the side of the entrance, almost as if he were from the shadows. What in Bogon was going on here?

The protopet crept up to her forearm and nuzzled it, begging for some more of her attention. Reaching down to pet it, she used her other hand to replace the first disc with another one, and this time this was from a camera from within the building that monitored the corridors and offices on a particular floor in question. Again, this same person whose face was covered by a security guard's cap, went past everyone without suspicion. It was almost as if he knew where the cameras were and avoided looking up at them.

"This thief is good. He obviously did his homework." Angela narrowed her eyes, trying to see what this person actually looked like. "Definitely not reptilian. Not a marsupial. But nonetheless furry. His ears, they look so familiar. And where's his tail? Does he have one?"

In another sector of the building, on a remote catwalk, the mysterious guest walked onward, regardless of the approaching guard employee. What happened next appeared fast body movements. The guard was taken down by a club with a single blow to the head. How strong was this person? The camera feed ended there.

She replaced the second disc with a third.

Now this feed was from within the armory. Nothing but robot workers there. Surely this person couldn't take out a bot with a stick? The thief continued toward the place that stored weapons and gadgets, ignoring all the movement around him. The robot workers continued their tasks, only to steal a glimpse of the guard, and then returning to their work. And by the time the thief reached the vault and realized that it was sealed, that didn't stop him.

He looked around for a moment, went off where the camera couldn't see him, and then he was never seen again for the last ten minutes. Angela skipped past half an hour of recording, and still the vault door hadn't been disturbed. This brought a state of consternation. Then how did the robbery take place?

She put in the fourth and last security disc.

Once it played, it showed the interior of the vault. What happened next was unbelievable. During the same time the thief had disappeared out of sight in front of the vault, somehow, he found his way inside, and clearly without the aid of any explosive or advanced weaponry.

Angela moved closer to the projector, and nearly squeezing her pet to death. "That's not possible!" she shouted, intrigued by this extraordinary theft.

Something caught her eye at the last moment while the thief finishing picking up specific weapons and gadgets.

"Aha! What do we have here?" She paused the video.

Using the controls on the base of the vidplayer, she zoomed in on the thief's left hand, which held something small, silver and round. Under the light, the device seemed to gleam at the time the vid was halted.

"Perhaps that's how he did it? An illegal gadget? But what? How? Why?"

She let the rest of the feed play, watching how careful the thief was at placing the weapons and gadgets into a one of the storage cases the vault provided, and then he walked out from the camera's eye, disappearing again. The security camera footage truncated there.

She contemplated the matter after taking in all the evidence from the viddiscs.

"Visually speaking, he's dressed up as a guard, covered his head with a hat and his tail, if there is one, inside his clothing. He walked as if he knew where the cameras were placed, and then used a device that was capable of making a person vanish into thin air. Could Megacorp have a surreptitious employee? Whoever this is, someone has to find out. And it might as well be me. This isn't exactly something to concern Mr. Hero about. This is _my_ galaxy."

All of a sudden, an ingenious idea occurred to her, at which she formed a sly look, arching an eyebrow. She ran the idea again and again in her mind, and the more she put herself in the middle of it, the greater her countenance became.

"I'll solve this one all on my own..." she said proudly, getting up from her bed and jumping off. She made her way into another room of her home, the one where she kept her latest of her personal inventions--things she kept from Megacorp. In the inventor's room, cluttered with many unfinished projects, some inventions were products of failure from the start, and some were not. She always tried to improve upon all the items Megacorp were already successful with.

On her inventor's desk, there were prototypes of weapons, gadgets, blue prints of many kinds, and the whole wall along the desk area blueprints covered it with posters of unheard of inventions. With an arm, she completely cleared off everything on her desk, letting various things fall to the floor with a crash. Once satisfied with a clean desk, she dusted off a stool, brought it over, and then began rearranging the lighting of the room with the touch of a knob.

She then went over to a nearby closet and opened it. Inside was a finished project, a type of battle armor wear that neither Megacorp or any other major maker has ever heard of. She called it...

She produced a broad smile. "_Tuferalox_. It's nice to see you again, old thing."

Tuferalox was a type of body armor, a befitting commando suit for taller persons, that she had originally designed for Megacorp, but decided to keep it for other reasons. The suit sported a black finish that glistened under light; a matching helmet accompanied it, and the suit was made to withstand some of the most adverse conditions in battle, anything from blaster burns, shotgun blasts, electricity, liquid nitrogen weaponry, and many others.

The inside fabric lining was so watertight that even after going for a swim one would still be dry. In a lot of ways, this special armor was unassailable. Even if the person within this suit couldn't be readily hurt, but with enough pressure on the outside, for the body to be jolted so badly, the person could still be injured. A blast from a tank's shell would be a true test of this suit's durability. As for the helmet, it included a thick-layered visor behind the eye sockets of the mask; and the visor itself was a technologically advanced mask that covered the entire head, and it was able to keep record of the armor's overall condition.

Angela Cross's life was about to change for the better. At least that was what she thought to be the case. After marveling at her own creation, she removed her regular clothing, leaving on the garments that really mattered. Within a few minutes, she had the armor on fully, fastening the shoulder plates to complete the package. Lastly, she carefully pulled on the helmet, which then activated the system within the suit. A system calibration check flashed on the inner screen of the visor, where her eyes were, giving readings in many numbers and symbols. The eye sockets of the helmet emitted a soft glow of silver.

From the foot of her bed her protopet barked as if to cheer her on. At this, she gave her pet a gloved thumbs up, and then tried walking around in her armor.

The armor seemed too light on her and her footing was easily accomplished. The weight of the armor was no hindrance. Knowing this, she returned to the closet and examined the very few weapons and gadgets she had designed to beseem the armor. She had only two weapons and one gadget.

"Ah, the Plasma Sword. Charged particles producing high outputs of energy, fully capable of charring the most formidable materials," she said to herself as a reminder while holding the inactive saber. She examined it thoroughly, and then slid it into its scabbard built into the thigh of her armor.

The second and last weapon she had invented some time ago was one of her favorites.

"Star Blade,"--she grinned--"One blade becomes four stars. This will certainly be handy for multiple fiends."

Finally, the last item she had time to create and modify after work was actually a very useful gadget. It resembled a HyperShot, but certainly smaller and more stylish. It was an add-on to her body armor, and more noticeably an attachment for either forearms for swinging, grappling, and activating certain electrical devices.

She clipped on the device and noticed the suit registering that the device was working properly. She aimed it at an object in the room, at an empty box, and tried the gadget out. The device popped open a slot in front of it, slowly pushing out an inch of what appeared to be hooks shaped like bullets, and then fired them with a resounding blast. The strange hooks found their mark on the box and began to pull it toward her. Not paying too much attention to the rate of the suspension, the box reeled in too fast and smashed her in the face. Luckily, the armor kept her on her feet. Had that been without any extra weight, she surely would have fallen back.

"Ow! Darnit, I'll have to be careful with this thing."

Now that everything was all set she was ready to take on the new thief: her battle suit worked perfectly; the weapons worked; and she already had a general idea of where to go to track down the thief. She was several steps ahead of herself, or so she liked to believe. This time, she reassured herself, no one would be getting in her way. Not even Ratchet.

**06:00 - Planet Veldin, Kyzil Plateau, Solana Galaxy**

It has been almost a year after Dr. Nefarious's defeat, marking a new beginning for everyone in the Solana galaxy. Because there were no more threats to be dealt with, Ratchet had decided to withdraw from the Q-Force. Following a similar action as his friend, Clank took up a full-time role as Secret Agent Clank, making his already famous name extend beyond the reaches of both Solana and Bogon. He found himself mostly busy with his acting career, and it was very seldom that he chose to disturb Ratchet's time of peace, but they kept in touch in one way or another. As for Ratchet's early retirement from being a hero, he has since kept himself busy, always bent on repairing something around his home. Sometimes during nights, when he has nothing to do in particular, he spent them half contemplating and reflecting about himself.

The Q-Force, however, has always remained in effect, serving as the official galactic peacekeeper of the Solana galaxy. Captain Qwark led the force once again, keeping a keen eye out on the denizens of the galaxy; he did this for one other reason, too, such as to be sponsored by the Arena games and receive another revenue. As for Big Al, the former roboshack owner, he worked exclusively for intelligence agencies all around the galaxy. Thanks to his connections and through his brother Bob, the Q-Force was constantly up to speed on news and the latest information regarding technology and science. Helga, the robotic fitness trainer, never relented when it came to keeping the team on its toes with exercises and fitness and strength training; and not only did she watch over the others well-being but also prepared their daily meals much to their dislike. Skid McMarx was still around, too, although a little light on spy missions, he was occasionally given reconnaissance duties to test the latest gadgets provided by Gadgetron. Skrunch never left his master's side, and sometimes could be found wherever someone left a banana out in the open aboard the Starship Phoenix. And lastly, the galactic president's daughter, Captain Sasha, has been the busiest of them all in making sure things were running smoothly, not only with the Q-Force but the Galactic Rangers too. Most of the time she found herself in a reverie, imagining all the times she could be having with her lombax boyfriend. For awhile, their relationship had been unofficial one, but it was not quite platonic as one or the other truly wanted it to be.

Veldin, on this particularly day, seemed more arid and less habitable than normal. Ratchet couldn't comprehend why he was beginning to feel like he did before his adventures took off when he called home boring. Contrary to how he was beginning to feel, home was where he chose to be. He sometimes wished his new love would quit her job and settle down with him, but he wouldn't allow himself to be that selfish. He knew his girlfriend had far more important things to be doing, and these things were what made her selfless more than him.

The short lombax thought of these things, not feeling as complacent as before, when he had originally decided to disband. Maybe, he thought, he had enough adventure for one lifetime. In his hand, he held his Omniwrench firmly and began tightening a bolt to an engine that would eventually go into his latest star fighter. He always wanted to create his own custom engine to prove to himself that he was really talented.

The sound of the wrench kept him in a trance. He was working, but almost in a zombie state where his eyes did not follow the movement of the bolt. Behind him, his tail rested on the floor, curled slightly upward at the end. His ears were also partially drooping on both sides of his head. He was dressed only in his green-armored pants from one of his old commando suits. He was topless as usually, something he preferred most of the time when he was at home. From all of his adventures and from working with his arms most of the time, small muscles lined his back. His chest cavity was more robust than when he had first begun his quest to stop Drek. Four packs of muscle bulged at his abdomen, making him even more attractive to the females on his planet. His body may have hardened, but his heart remained soft as ever. He never allowed any other female to catch his fancy, either, even if they were of his kind. He wanted to believe that he was totally faithful to his Marcadian jewel.

The sound of something shattering on the steel floor of his garage grabbed the attention of his ears; they perked upright and swerved a couple of times as if to register the new sound precisely. At first, he ignored the sound, not particularly caring what object had decided to break on its own. His bore a deadpan countenance, and then stopped what he was doing, with his right arm still on the wrench, and only motioning his head to glance over his right shoulder.

"What fell?" he said. "What do I have in here that's made of glass?"

He removed his hand from the wrench, turned completely around, and surveyed the floor. Near the entrance, by the front of a couch, a picture frame had fallen and broken to pieces. He didn't remember what it had shown, but he walked over to make the rediscovery himself.

He knelt down and picked up the frame, slowly turning it over as if to surprise himself anew. The digital photograph was something taken from when he had resided in the Bogon galaxy. The background was undoubtedly Clank's condominium back in Megapolis. In the picture was Clank, his secret fem bot admirer, and himself. Something or someone seemed to be missing, because he could have sworn there was more to that picture, if his memory served him right. Then, tucked secretly behind the main picture, there was another picture hidden behind a cutout of cardboard.

He removed the picture and examined it. This one was something taken by Clank, featuring himself--and _her_.

"Angela. Angela Cross," he said repeatedly as old memories were returning to him in an instant; old revelations returned in full bloom.

He elevated his head to get a good look of his friend. "Angela," he said once more, almost in a sacred whisper.

The memories were coming back to him at a fast rate, as flashes and voices. Not surprisingly, the first thing he remembered about her was how she had dressed up as a thief and put him through a lot of trouble just to retrieve the Protopet. A chuckle escaped behind gritted teeth at the thought of tightening his wrench around her neck.

"You made me so mad that I wanted to..." the ending of the sentence made him gnaw his lower lip. "...blow you away."

It was true. The Thief did put him in harm's way a lot of times and the only way the lombax knew how to deal with harm was to bash it with his wrench or to simply blow it into smithereens with weapons. He believed there was no matter that couldn't be solved with a gun; it was the only way he knew how to deal with problems. Violence was just in his blood, he thought.

Ratchet took note of how good Angela looked at the time of the capture. She was sitting so close to him and her body turned in his direction. Before the camera captured the image of them, one of her arms had snaked its way around his shoulder and pulled him into a noogie. He never expected the geneticist to do such a thing then; it was so unnatural.

"I'll get you back for that, Angela Cross," he stressed her name just the same as she had done in an intergalactic greeting. "Why did I ever hide this picture for?"

He looked down for a moment and frowned. "Oh yeah, Sasha." He rubbed his nape with a gloved hand, feeling a bit guilty all of a sudden.

Without warning, the holoscreen screwed into the wall, behind his couch, clicked on and an image took shape into what appeared to be Skid McMarx. Judging by the transmission, the former hover board champ was aboard the Phoenix.

"Yo, Ratchet, dude! How's it goin'?"

The lombax crumbled the picture of Angela quickly and put it behind him.

"Things...are...good! I think. So what's the news at Starship Phoenix?" he inquired with a big, goofy grin.

"We got word of something--oh! What was it again? Oh, yeah, of someone. My mistake. Reports are coming in from the Rangers at Kerwan that there's someone trying to be like you, and he's causing all kinds of trouble and confusion and chaos. Yeah, man. Big trouble."

Ratchet's eyes broadened. "Seriously? Someone is trying to impersonate me?"

"Seems that way, my friend. What do you want to do about it? Personally, I'd been down there already and open a can of whoopin'. Ya still got that wrench, right? Show this crazy hero wannabe what you're all about. He can't be dissin' you like that."

Ratchet thought about Skid's advice, tightening the photo behind him in his gloved hand.

"I'll tell you what... Let the rangers deal with this crazy nut. If the situation doesn't change, then I'll deal with it, personally. It's been awhile since I used my Omniwrench on someone."

"Alright, man, that's the plan. I'll tell it to the others," said Skid, the image of his finger growing large as if he was about to shut off the transmission.

Ratchet held out a hand. "Whoa, wait!"

"Yeah, bud?"

"Where's Sasha? Is she...abroad?"

Suddenly Skrunch's face maximized on the screen, having to be pushed back by Skid. The monkey made lots of noises as if to complain and repeatedly hopped in indignation. From somewhere in the background, the voice of Helga shouted at him.

"Ze crazy monkey! Go do somezing that vill help us all out."

"Aw...don't bother the little guy. He can't help he's just so excited to hear from the furry guy like an ant is merry with a leaf on its back, taking the baby home. Haha!" came from Captain Qwark.

Skid finally restrained the one-eyed alien monkey in a half nelson.

"Sorry about that, Ratchet dude, this little guy startin' to get on my nerves. Anyway, Sasha's back at her home world to help the galactic president. I'll tell her to give ya a call back, k? The Big Q, er, Q-Force out."

The holoscreen went blank, leaving Ratchet to his thoughts. The lombax brought his arm back around and looked at what was left of the photograph...now ruined. His ears flattened again and he exhaled deeply. He had something he wanted to do, but that would have to wait until later. For now, he wondered what kind of a person would try to be like him, only the opposite, during a time of peace.

Ratchet retired into his underground home, entering his small bedroom and opening a large chest that stored his previous armors of the past. He picked out his old favorite, the original commando suit given to him as a reward for completing his intensive training at Megacorp long ago. The green suit was still in great order, but it just needed a little dusting off.

He removed his armored pants from another suit and pulled on the new one, followed by its chest plate. He decided against wearing a helmet, because he never did particularly like seeing all of those numbers and nanotech data informing him of the current situation; he was more content with putting all of his attention into the battle at hand. And once most of the commando armor was on, he stepped out of his home, back into the hot air, looking like he had returned from a war.

The lombax went over to his latest ship from his last mission. The ship was still in mint condition, and it was the fastest of all the ships he ever flown. It was weird how he would always find some other aircraft to replace the last one. He thought about it, and then snickered to himself. He climbed onto the ship, not opening the canopy, but just to walk to the nose of it and sit there, taking in the sight of his home world. Without completing his new engine, he didn't plan on going anywhere just yet.

It was still early in the morning. He always had been the earliest lombax to rise before the sun and the last one to sleep well past the regular bedtime. It was no wonder why he stood out from all the others. No matter, he liked being different because that meant he was unique.

He looked up at the morning sky littered with several stars; there was a red haze to the air, and he flicked his tongue out because he could taste the saltiness of the air. After living in an exclusive area surrounded by the sea for so long, he had grown accustomed to doing this. For awhile, the lombax just sat there, and then reclined against the fiber glass of his ship.

The lombax finally said something, even though he thought it was foolishness or mindless babble.

"This is the beginning of good times and bad."


	2. C2: The Descent of Dark Angel

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Two

"The Descent of Dark Angel"

**08:00 - Planet Grelbin, Tundor Wastes, Bogon Galaxy**

It was early in the morning. Snow still fell, sometimes in the form of crystals or puffy flakes, from the darkness of the Grelbin sky. At the geneticist's home, bright flashes escaped some of the vents of the roof, drawing attention to the structure. The sound of gun blasts accompanied the sporadic flashes, betraying the practice happening within the snow-covered structure. Moments later, nothing else could be seen or heard.

A door opened at the front entrance. A gloved hand suddenly appeared grasping the frame of the door, and then a black boot came forth. The light from inside the home expanded over the snow the more the door moved forward, followed by a tall silhouette. Stepping out into the snow, the masked female looked sideways before shutting the door behind her. Tucked under an arm, she held a familiar item from the past--her aerial glider.

The Tuferalox made her appear taller than she originally was. Although the original disguise she had worn before did succeed in providing her a convincing, masculine frame, this time the armor made her gender clearly evident by the shape of the chest plate, which she had crafted to befit her breasts. There was no motive to conceal her gender this time around, and she truly believed that being her natural self, to some extent, would later play in her favor. If necessary, it would be easy for her to mask her voice, but the thought of feigning to be the same thief as before was out of the question; this time she would need to be more serious. She needed no cloak, either, to get the message across that she could be a dangerous damsel.

She lowered her glider and placed it on the snow, pressing a hidden button to activate it. The glider began to hover, and she hopped onto it. Fastening her boots to it with a long strap, she sped down the slope just off to the side of her home. She traveled in the direction of the Mystic's bonfire, hoping to reach him and see what wise words he had to offer, _or say about her new look_.

She was in luck. The old man was there, busily tending to his fire with a stick in hand. When he saw the stranger on approach, he jabbed his stick into the snow, adjusted his chair, and then sat back in it. His fire crackled and popped, shooting up bits of ember.

"Oh, hello there," he said. "What brings you to this side of the icy wastes?"

Angela slowed her pace, came up to the side of the sage, and remained hovering. In her usual voice, though partially muffled behind the mask, she greeted him. "The same to you, Mystic."

The mystic interlocked his fingers and smiled. "What is it that you wish to ask me, young one?"

She flitted her ears as she formed a question, "So...eh...what do you think of my...new look?"

The mystic eyed her from head to toe, twiddled his fingers, and then hummed as if he were captivated by some mysterious force. At this, Cross's glowing eyes shaped into a smile; she giggled to herself, considering whether or not the sage made such a strange noise to be reassuring or believable--she hoped for the former, because she wanted to hear him say that her armor design was better than the silly outfit she'd worn before.

The old man's hum came to an end, and then he closed his eyes as he spoke. "You look, er, very nice in all that metal. May the great forces protect and guide you always, child." He then gave a nod.

"Why thank you, o' sage. I like to believe it's a hundred times more fashionable than my old thief outfit."

At the reminiscence of her being in that old wear, the sage chuckled behind a few crooked teeth. Cross folded her arms, gestured to the side on her glider, and narrowed her eyes a little to show that she was offended.

"Oh, so sorry,"--he held up his hands--"the old you in such apparel tickled a funny bone."

"Har-har."

A thought came to the old man as a gust of wind swept past them and made his headband flutter. Behind the body suit, the cold wind didn't faze her. But what did give a slight chill on her was the fact that her striped ears were exposed, projected from the back of the helmet. The wind, however, gradually ebbed to softness, and the snow fell slower.

"Since you're here, I may have something of interest to you." The mystic rose from his chair and filched for something in the pockets of his long robe. "While taking an afternoon walk on the sands of Tabora, about a year ago, I found--no, stepped on--this item. The blasted thing cut the sole of my foot."

He revealed and showed her a small, portable and electrical device. The gadget itself seemed to be similar to a Gadgetron PDA, but its function remained enigmatic. The true purpose of it, while the geneticist studied it, remained incomprehensible; it was something she had never seen before.

She reached out for it, but the old man closed his hand. "Not so fast, young one. This item is broken. I will need three Moonstones to heal its sad chi. Get the stones, and, this device, you shall have it." An amiable, partly goofy, smile appeared on his face.

At this, Angela curled a hand into a fist, and then pointed off in the direction of the wastes. Based on the tension of her eyes behind the mask, she showed great determination and excitement at the first sign of a challenge. She knew she would have to deal with the Y.E.T.I. and Arctic Leviathan beasts to gather the stones, but this was only the more reason to take up the chance to practice her skills as a fighter.

"You have yourself a deal, Mystic. I'll return with your moonstones as soon as possible. You just better keep that device warm for me, because this girl is coming back with more than you could ever ask for." For old time's sake, she then chortled in that ancient thief's voice, narrowing her eyes in exaggeration. "Hahaha!"

She motioned her legs to stir the glider in the direction of the snowy hills and plains of the waste lands, and took off with haste. The glider's afterburners flared vividly, leaving a trail of thick smog. Behind her masked head her ears fluttered in the wind, and the sage stood up and looked after her, listening to the sounds of his fire.

Several minutes later, Cross slowed and steadied her glider as she came up to a quiet area, a plane of snow, with a continuous hilltop several yards out, and a suspicious pool of frozen water at its center. Reaching down to her side, where her scabbard awaited the capable hand of an adept fighter, she grasped the hilt of her beam saber. She hovered with caution toward the frozen pool, circling it once, and then waiting for a stir. At first, nothing seemed to move or show any signs of a living thing.

"All right, where are you? I've seen your kind before, always hiding beneath the ice, waiting to attack some unsuspecting creature, and hoping to get a quick meal," she whispered, trying to see through the thick plate of ice over the pool. Because she'd been living in the Tundor Wastes for so long, she knew of all the creatures that dwelled within it.

Upon a second survey around the pool, a startling sound erupted behind her and caught her by surprise. It was a small group of Y.E.T.I.--snowbeasts--that had been disturbed by the sound of her glider. They seemed petulant, as if having been awakened from their peaceful slumber underground. If ever such a thing occurred, no one really knew. They shook their thick, white-furred pelts free of snow, and then growled when they saw what trespassed into their territory. With all red fiery eyes, seemingly incandescent, fixed on the masked intruder, it only took one of them to give chase--and have all the rest to follow.

All of sudden, from behind, the crackling of ice warned her of another danger: a massive beast, none other than the infamous Arctic Leviathan, who shattered through the ice cap of its home, giving a monstrous roar; the sound of the roar itself was enough to make the ground quiver, and the snow on the hilltops fell in large heaps. But the snowbeasts ignored their gigantic enemy; they were more concerned about their first guest.

The first snowbeast lurched a few feet ahead of Cross in attempt to tackle her. And as it was in midair, she unsheathed her Plasma Sword and activated it with a flip of a switch. She drew back her right arm as if to welcome the beast with a powerful slash, but the leviathan behind her unexpectedly swished past her right and engulfed the snowbeast in a single swoop. The surprise attack from it made her lose her foothold, and she fell back on the snowy surface. Staring up at the leviathan, it returned an icy glare, and then gave another horrendous cry.

Angela's glider slowly hovered out of her reach and at this she cursed herself. Not losing faith in the situation, she climbed to her feet, readied her beam sword again, and slashed the second beast that dared to attack her.

When the sword brushed against the thick pelt of the Y.E.T.I., it cried out in pain, and most of its fur in the front was completely singed out of existence. It fell back in agony, and it took a little while before it decided to come again--far more upset than before. The other snowbeasts, despite seeing one of them go down with a single hit of their assailant's blade, marched forth in greater numbers, calling in reinforcements.

Angela performed a dive as another snowbeast lunged with its claws and teeth. She leapt in such a way that her lean body turned in midair, during which time she equipped her Star Blade in her other hand, and threw the blades in self-defense. The blade struck the snowbeast in the head, separated, and ricocheted, bursting into deadly stars with sharp, serrated edges; the stars themselves found their marks on the foreheads of three more beasts, knocking them down for the count.

Taken aback by the magnificence of her Star Blade, she threw another one at the second wave of beasts that dared her to. Meanwhile, the leviathan watched the scene carefully, trying to decide its next meal. His eyes fell on Angela, and then its long neck stretched out to intercept her.

Angela saw this attack coming and leapt backwards, performing a simplistic flip away from the humongous fangs. When she landed in the snow she reached for where her utility belt would be, but remembered that was only with her thief disguise.

"Drat!" She growled.

When the leviathan saw that it had missed her, from within its maw, it began to harness some kind of energy. The beam grew intensely bright, making her shadow, and the snowbeasts', distend into the far reaches of the plane; and, just before the scaly creature let loose its destructive energy beam, a snowbeast tackled and pinned her.

The leviathan's beam struck both of them.

In front of her, the snowbeast was instantaneously turned into a solid block of ice--and broke into bits in front of her eyes. Luckily, the beast had absorbed most of the damage for her, or she would have been frozen too. She stood again, punched the forearm that had been caught a little by the icy blast, and broke the ice from the armor. This allowed her to use her left arm once more, which held her Plasma Sword.

"No more Ms. Nice Girl!"

With the aid of the next snowbeast that leaped for her, she used its shoulder as a platform, took to the air, positioned her sword in a stabbing manner, and came down over an unsuspecting Y.E.T.I. The attack put the beast out of its misery for good. Then another one came from behind.

In one fluid motion, she turned and decapitated a snowbeast, and then booted the furry torso back into the snow. Off to her side, the leviathan snatched up another snowbeast and swallowed it whole. He set his sights on her.

The same attack came as before, but Angela hopped onto its head, positioned her saber in a downward thrust, and gave the beast something to think about. The leviathan howled in agony, shaking its head back and forth, and threw her off near her glider. Landing on her glider, she threw more of her star blades at the remaining snowbeasts.

The snowbeasts went down without a fight, accompanied by the resounding percussion of the leviathan, who too, toppled to the surface with a final roar. A mountain of snow flew into the air when the giant beast hit the snowy surface, seeming to come down as equally as fast, raining over the female slayer. There was no one else left. It was time to reap the benefits. At that, she walked over to the pool where the scaly beast had originated and kneeled to see what was in the water. The deep, blue glow of the moonstone reflected off the visor of her helmet. And the success of having conquered her enemies and finding the first crystal was welcoming.

This was only one moonstone, and the others were to be found--soon.

Brought back to consciousness after having fallen asleep in his chair, the sound of a bag full of moonstones hit the snow beside him. The sage looked up in surprise to see that the young girl had gathered so many, and more than he had originally asked for. Satisfied, he sat up in his chair, reached into his pocket, and tossed the device to his neighbor.

"As promised," he said. "Now let me see what else I can do for you with these wonderful--and valuable--stones."

Angela watched the old man, with the device held out in her hand, as he reached into the bag full of moonstones. He removed a few, held them, and began to sink back into a chant like before. While he was working his magic, she studied the device in her hand, and then blinked in surprise. The device was repairing itself.

The chant stopped and the sage reopened his eyes, giving a gesture that said she was welcome. After that, he reclined in his chair, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.

Turning and examining the device, its function now became clear. It was a navigational computer that possessed every galactic map a person could ever ask for. With it, she could travel from planet to planet without having to resort to those paper maps as she had done before. This was already becoming a great start.

In her ship, just as the canopy was shutting her inside, she typed in the name of a destination she wanted to travel to, and the results appeared quickly. She had decided to search for the closest place where she could get her ship modified, realizing now that it needed an upgrade of parts, or that she just needed to get a star fighter in case trouble came blasting. The small ship was not designed for much maneuverability. She read aloud the first name that came up on the small screen.

"Slim's Shack? Slim Cognito." She stared past the ship in thought. "Hm. Let's see what he has to offer."

With that said, she made her mind up to visit the dealer, and started her ship. Her ship was too small, she thought, and if she could talk her way into a replacement then the trip would be well worth it. Her ship was not for space combat. That she was sure of.

**13:05 - Slim's Shack, Slim Cognito's, Bogon Galaxy**

By the time she reached the ship dealer's shack, she was already growing with anticipation for more action. It seemed the small battles she had at home weren't enough; she needed something more to prove she was fully capable of great things just as Ratchet and Clank, if she was really going to apprehend the new thief. She dismissed her thoughts of Ratchet, beginning to dislike the idea of him returning to her galaxy.

She taxied her ship into the compound that could only fit one ship at a time. After the double sliding doors of the shack entrance closed behind her ship, the canopy of her small ship slid open, and she hopped out with her boots clanking against the metal surface. She scanned over her surroundings: there was an eerie feel to the place, for the three walls that surrounded the landing zone weren't decorated with much of anything; the air was chilly, that she could tell by the sensations of her ears and the fact that the shack entrance had allowed in cold space.

There was only one direction to go in, forward, and she envisioned a lombax having to do the same thing before her. Not too far from her ship, a small walkway led her up to a platform and to a window that had been closed with a shutter. Was this dealer in? She brought up a hand and knocked a couple of times.

There was no answer. She knocked again.

Suddenly, after she had turned her back to the window, the shutters opened upward, and a dark room welcomed her. Startled by the emergence of a pair of eyes, and only that, she retreated a few steps and gasped quietly behind her mask. It was Slim, definitely, and he looked characteristically stark of emotion...until he spoke.

The eyes awoke, a little excited, at the sight of a female customer--and one who looked exquisite in her foreign armor.

"Oh...my...what do we have here? How was the flight?" he asked, and then shifted his eyes to look to see if anyone else was with her.

"The flight was...um...short. I..."

He whistled as he furthered his attention onto her armored body suit.

"What a wonderful get-up, babe. Where did you ever find that?"

Angela's eyes glowed as the flattery went straight to her head.

"Well, you see, I..." she began to explain.

"Wait, don't tell me..."--he chimed--"you _stole_ it, didn't you?" His voice was mysterious and somewhat alluring.

"No, no. You have it all wrong," she said. "It's a design I conceived myself. I'm flattered that you've taken a liking of it."

Slim's eyes bulged in amazement. He was impressed by this customer.

"So there's a beauty behind the armor and mask? Creative, too..." He went off on a tangent, but she brought him back to the point of her visit.

"I'm in need of a star fighter. Do you have anything available? Or can you easily modify mine to be one?" She gestured toward her ship, looking back at it for a moment.

Slim stole a glance at her ship and gave a moment of silence to contemplate. Angela put her hands on her hip, and then began to tap her boot. A few sounds of Slim mumbling to himself in deep thought caught her attention, and she turned sideways to hear whatever it was that he was saying. Finally, his eyes circled and stopped short on her chest, and then looked hurriedly up at her mask.

"I think we can make a deal that will save us both time, energy, and a lot of bolts. Consider this proposition..." he said, his eyes looking off into a corner of his invisible head. "I'm in need of some extra bolts, but I'd rather not take yours to 'adjust' your ship from scratch. So, here's the thing... Megacorp is sponsoring a major gladiatorial event at the Maktar Resort. They'll pay large amounts of bolts--and probably give a cool prize to the winner--and if you could make that profit, I'll be willing to loan you a fighter now, but you'll have to pay me _half_ of the winnings to own it. This way, you can enter the competition for free and have a chance to win lots and lots of bolts, and not to mention some glory. So, do we have a deal?"

Angela placed a finger on her temple, considering the weight of the deal and its repercussions. Once she settled her mind, she extended her hand and nodded. Slim merely looked down at her hand, but did not shake it. At this, she returned her hand to her side and raised an eyebrow behind the mask.

"Sorry, I don't do handshakes," was all he said.

"Oh, really? Well then do you always ask girls to throw away their lives to make a deal concrete?" she quipped.

"Haha! Funny, too. I like you, warrior."

Angela gave a hidden blush. "Thanks. So are we..._cool_?"

She could tell Slim was smiling by the way his eyes were shaped.

"We're so_ very _cool. Your fighter is all ready and waiting for you. Just pick one. I'll be cheering for you."

Angela gave a thumbs-up, turned, and walked off to her ship.

Beneath her ship the floor began to move and slide aside, pulling her tiny craft away toward a wall. Suddenly, the same massive wall opened and revealed another hanger, and in it were several fighters. The shack was more massive than it appeared to be on the outside. Angela was too thrilled about the many selections; she felt like she had been given an unlimited bolt card and could buy anything and as often as she wanted to without consequences. The only collateral was her ship.

**17:48 - Maktar Nebula, Maktar Resort, Bogon Galaxy**

Angela Cross arrived at the Maktar Resort during its busiest hour. The resort was getting prepared for the main event, so everyone who was anyone flew in for the next several fights. Multiple light posts dotted the passageways that all connected to the ridiculously massive dome arena. Video monitors flipped channels occasionally to show what types of battles that were to take place, the featured gladiators, and the grand prize number of bolts. Above the monitors was the vastness of the nebula, which gave off a deep blue haze, and all around it one could attest to seeing distant planets , such as Endako and Snivelak among the various moons and infinite number of stars. Transports, freighters, and ships of all sorts occupied nearly every inch of space around the arena. These new sights easily impressed the geneticist, to whom the greatest things she had ever seen were found through the lens of a microscope.

She walked toward the entrance of the arena, looking around the multiple passageways and extensions of the resort. She was so enthralled that it would seem to others that she was a tourist, because her body language showed that she was a bit uneasy with matters that came to dealing with populated areas. Despite this peculiarity, her body armor gave her a different kind of demeanor as well--and an omnipotent one too.

She made her way to an escalator, hitching a ride toward the center of attraction--the arena. She took in the sites, noticing a drop ship from afar beaming down various Thugs-4-Less persons; in other areas, where ships met with docks, the sight of Blarg warriors reminded her of the time when Ratchet told his tales about fighting all kinds of people within his galaxy. And after the kind of impact the lombax made in his own galaxy and hers, it seemed the two galaxies weren't too different from each other.

The feeling of something touching the tips of her boots brought her back to attention. She stepped off the escalator and toward a ticket booth. Inside, a ticket master stood tall and was dressed nicely. When she went up to the booth, he elevated his hand, and dismissed her.

"Sorry, we're all out of tickets. The arena is completely filled to its fullest--and I sincerely mean 'fullest'--capacity."

She pointed to herself, "I'm not a spectator; I'm here to compete."

The ticket master looked at her and laughed. In response, she flattened her ears and gave a little growl.

"Sorry. It's been a long day. You wouldn't believe the strangest competitors I've seen today," he said. "You're here to compete, eh? Very well, proceed on and make a right. Good luck, you're gonna need it."

He gestured for her to proceed and she did. She pulled open a door, stepped inside, and the sound of thousands upon thousands of voices hurt her ears. She wasn't used to such a noise level, but her ears had already begun to adjust. A headache was inevitable. She came to bear with the noise and followed the signs. A moment later, the voices of the crowd diminished a little, as that of the announcer's blared over the speaker system. The next series of events were being announced, and she hadn't even registered yet.

She ran down a hall and stopped short at another sign that informed her where the participants were supposed to register for combat. Entering through a double door, she was greeted by many unruly faces of several other competitors of different races. Some carefully studied the newcomer while others were watching a large projection monitor installed into a wall, displaying rules and regulations.

Cross went through the warriors and eventually found a sign-in desk. There, an official of the Maktar Arena looked up in bewilderment when seeing her. Was it just her or did everyone already have something against her commando suit? She didn't really know, but it made her feel uncomfortable--and more determined to win.

A few of the participants had already begun to gossip.

She put her hands down on the desk in such as manner that appeared to be a demand. "I'd like to register for the battle arena."

The official gathered his composure, picked up his clipboard, and began to read her the rights of the corporation.

"By signing, we--the Megacorp Corporation--will not be held liable should you get hurt, become crippled, or die while participating in these brutal events. If you understand these terms, then please sign here..."--he pointed to a line for signature and offered his stylus--"Good luck, ma'am."

Angela wasn't about to turn back now, so she grabbed the pen and placed the tip of it on the beginning of the signature line, but hesitated a moment. At this, the other competitors' gossip grew several crescendos. The longer her pause, the louder their voices grew.

_This girl has a death wish!_

_I can't believe this._

_Yo, she's gotta be the first..._

_She's a goner!_

Different pseudonyms crossed her mind, but she needed something that would be memorable. Given the circumstances and how well she performed against the Y.E.T.I. and Arctic Leviathan found on her home world, she tied two words together--and thus _Dark Angel_ was born. She signed the contract, and then an overwhelming sense of pride came over her.

When she turned around, all eyes in the room were on her. She almost felt like she was a celebrity. With that in mind, she accepted all of the attention, and turned it into a sort of impetus. Checking out her armor, weaponry, and gadgets, she made sure everything was in order. Her fellow competitors watched in the greatest fascination. At last, one of them approached her, and uttered one coherent sentence.

By the appearance of this stranger, she could tell he was from the planet Barlow.

"You brave. Very brave. I like that about you."

Then another warrior came up and felt the strange yet exotic body armor.

"What's this? It looks like it's not of this galaxy."

Dark Angel inspected the back of her gloved hand. She didn't disguise her voice to sound tough, she was having too much fun gloating. "Thanks, I'll take that as a compliment,"-- she rubbed a few of her fingertips together; --"and this is a suit I designed all by myself."

"Ooo!" came from the two.

From the back of the room a Thug-4-Less Brute watched the scene before him through shades, rubbing his chin. One could tell his origin was that of Snivelak: a purple-scaled reptilian behemoth with a spiked head. Strangely, he was not exactly garbed in the typical uniform as most thugs were seen in; he only wore dark-colored pants and a short-sleeve shirt that fitted snugly, showing his muscular frame. He wore no shoes, the black, sharp claws of his feet clearly visible. Judging by his nonchalant disposition, he was definitely not the typical thug that went out ravaging anything that was against the thug order. This brute was different.

All of a sudden, an announcement came from the official and the lights dimmed a little. Everyone shifted their attention from the seraphic wonder in black to the Megacorp employee, who then stood up and clasped his hands together.

"Alrighty, everyone, let's gather round and say a brief prayer before the battles begin. As you may already know, the person behind you, across you, or even in front of you may not survive these events. Since such is the case, we at Megacorp provide a brief period of prayer, so please shut your eyes and bow your heads and confess--to your god (or gods)--to forgive you for any sins you may have committed today and any time previous."

Heads lowered almost in a domino effect. Some gladiators motioned their lips to whisper in prayer while others simply shifted weight from one leg to the next during theirs, or turned weapon(s) in hand. The only two people who weren't following accordingly, for whatever reasons, were Dark Angel and the thug brute.

For some strange reason, the geneticist behind the mask couldn't find it in herself to concentrate, or any reason to pray. To her, she believed there wasn't really a major sin to confess. She at least feigned to be praying by lowering her head and partially closing her eyes; but she, during this time of silence, wondered if Ratchet had ever done such a thing during his time in the Bogan galaxy. At the thought of the lombax taking something--anything serious--as this, she imagined him either twirling his wrench or looking around in ignorance. The thought made her smile.

The thug brute didn't pray because he wasn't competing in any of the events; he was merely there to watch the events, but for another reason opted to examine the competitors. He kept a watchful eye on the female warrior, intrigued by her show of bravery, or foolishness. She could feel his eyes on her, and so she lifted her head enough to steal a glimpse of him. Something about him made her uneasy.

When the silence was over movement filled the room. A side, electronic door opened with a drone, and then the competitors emptied the room one by one. On their way to the waiting booth, where all competitors waited their turn, for the many of them didn't last too many rounds, some whooped like maniacs while others swung their swords or maces around in excitement.

The Maktar Arena games, sponsored by Megacorp, were about to begin. Many, if not all, viewers of the Bogan galaxy would be tuned to the arena games from their homes. If families didn't gather around the vid-screen, then they surely were with friends with access to the most brutal footage of combat ever aired to the public. The Bogon galaxy had a quirky grasp of death, because it never seemed to be a sensitive or tangible topic unless it involved millions of people...at the same time.

The time had finally come when it was the Dark Angel's turn to do battle. Many of the warriors she met, if not all of them, had been defeated in one gruesome way or another. From the last battle scene, where the last warrior had fallen forever, a small gathering of Sweeper Bots arrived on the floor to sweep away debris and metallic bodies from the arena, and into the seemingly bottomless pit that crackled with electricity. Seeing this, Dark Angel thought this was a bit insensitive on Megacorp's part, but the spectators paid no heed to sensitivities. These galactic battles were about the thrill, the adrenaline rush, that came between life and death, so there weren't any time for sympathy.

A Bogonian guard beckoned for the last participant.

"Hey, you, you're _next_," he said almost in a sadistic voice.

Dark Angel walked over to him, looked out onto the floor of the arena, and stood there in a bit of nervousness. Her ears were laid back on her head to show she was a bit worried for her own well-being. The guard beside her pointed toward a huge screen above the center of the floor, which signaled in large text that the final matches were to begin soon. From the crowd came an apocalyptic cheer that rocked the stadium in its entirety.

The announcer came over the voices and began another introduction.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Megacorp and the Maktar Arena are proud to bring to your viewing pleasure, 'Galactic Gladiators' and the last series of battles--up to five rounds--featuring the fearless and courageous challenger, Darrrrrrrrk Angellllllll!"

"That's your cue,"--pushed the guard from behind--"so get goin'."

Dark Angel walked across a small, round platform that levitated, hearing the sound of the door to the waiting room close behind her with a loud slam. The platform on which she stood moved forward, hovering slowly over the electric moat and toward the arena floor. During this time, she analyzed her surroundings, taking hints from the sliding door compartments all around the arena where the gladiators would appear. The floor of the arena looked wired with booty traps, too, and she reminded herself to keep a vigilant eye out for environmental changes, as she had seen from the big screen of all the gladiators before her fall victim to.

The platform stopped and she walked onto the circular arena floor, heading straight to the center. A resounding awe swept the floor as more spectators got a good look of the last fighter, and then the announcer continued his speech.

"And here is Dark Angel, fearless and bold. He doesn't need to wave, folks. No, wait, I believe that's a she! Amazing! What a turn of events. It appears we have our very first female combatant in the Megacorp Games, ever. This night is surely going down in history! Aren't you viewers at home glad you ordered this Mega-View event?"

From within the audience the same thug brute watched her with the greatest interest; his great, red eyes never left the sight of her. He folded his large arms and smiled grimly. _Could she be good as she looks?_

"Aw, isn't she a beauty, folks? Well let's see what we have in store for her tonight. Turning our attention to the overhead projection, the challenger has a five-round bout in the Bio- and Robotics-Division, a chance to win a total of ten thousand bolts per round and, if she can manage to survive--we hope so!--then she will also receive a complimentary space heater. Just kidding! She will receive her very own, and one of Megacorp's finest and latest gadgets, the _Graviporter Boots_. With these babies you can not only adhere to metal surfaces but teleport yourself around easily, as long as there's a translocator nearby. How's that sound, Dark Angel?"

Angel raised her arm above her head and jerked her fist repeatedly.

"There you have it, folks,"--clearing his throat--"Are you ready, spectators?"

The crowd gave a singular shout.

"Are you ready, Dark Angel?" asked the announcer.

She gave a thumbs up. "Ready as ever."

"Let the Bio-Competition begin!"

All of a sudden, two of the chambers that were similar to the one she originated from came forth via a pulling mechanism. When they stopped, their compartment doors slid open, and out poured several gladiatorial henchmen.

These Megacorp gladiators had been genetically engineered specifically for combat. These aliens bore a yellowish complexion, looked fierce with their purple, radiant eyes, and were of medium size--no larger than a snowbeast back on Grelbin. Some of them wielded a lethal chain-mace and a large shield while others held plasma whips at their sides as if to lash out with it at any second. All of them approached slowly, ominous.

Dark Angel reached down at her waist, behind her, and readied three star blades in between her fingers. When a gladiator made a dash for her, she pivoted, reared back a little, and launched the blades in one smooth motion. The leading star blade burst into multiple stars on the gladiator's head and sent him sprawling back with a grunt; the stars continued to bounce off one person to the next before disintegrating. When the few who were struck by her advanced weaponry rose to their feet, they growled.

"Whoa! Did you see that at home, folks? That wasn't anything I'd ever seen before. This girl's got cool gadgets." The announcer blared excitedly over the speakers.

A chain-mace came toward Dark Angel at great speed. With a simple jump, she lunged at the gladiator, barely escaping the spikes of the mace, and came down on his face with her boots. She then unsheathed her saber and activated it, slashing at the closest attacker, burning and destroying his chest armor in an instant.

While giving a battle cry, she performed a powerful jump kick to knock him down.

"Grr!" came from behind her.

A plasma whip came and wrapped around her armor, making a sizzling sound. The smell of acrid smoke came through the pores of her mask. The readings from inside her helmet, on the inner layer of the visor, told her that the suit was being attacked; a nanotech of its power had been lost.

"Curse you!" A genuine growl came from behind her mask.

She turned around, used her gloves the remove the whip from around her waist, and then used it to flog the gladiator. Her gloved hand billowed with smoke, but it was so thick that it could withstand much of the burn. She beat down the ugly alien, who released his whip and fell back in horror. More gladiators appeared from behind, trying to get a piece of the action.

The plasma whip dropped at her feet when her temper tantrum faded. Turning around, she kept the gladiators a few feet away from her brandishing her saber.

"Ooo! It seems someone has gotten her undies in a twist!"

The crowd laughed in an uproar.

Angel grew weary of this petty fight and gripped the hilt of her saber with both hands. When a next few gladiators rushed at her, as she had expected, she came down on the middle one with a thrust, laying him down to rest. Another, crescent, strike was all it took to put the other two down for the count. Thereafter, their headless bodies relinquished their chain-maces and shields. There were only two more gladiators to defeat.

The last two gladiators circled her from both sides, thinking of a way to attack her. Angel remained still, crouched low with hands on the hilt of saber, following one of them with her eyes and with her ears the other. At the sound of a chain being raised from behind, she quickly maneuvered to counter with a swift, vertical strike, and all the gladiator could see was black afterward.

The last gladiator approached with his chain-mace high in the air. At this, Angel snuck in low, brought up her saber, and severed the mace from its chain. The mace fell and landed on the gladiator's foot, which he then howled and held his injured foot. While he was busy tending to his foot, Angel came in close, turned her back, directed her weapon toward herself, and stabbed the gladiator behind her. Her battle flair and overall prowess with her weapons exhilarated the crowd around her.

"Simply amazing! I haven't seen this much skill since our only champion."--the announcer chuckled--"Now let's see what new _danger_ is to come for this skilled fighter."

The second round brought about the robotics division, where the challenger would be introduced to an array of metallic adversaries--Megacorp products, such as the MSRI, II, Blade Ball, and Nidbots. From the high above, the MSR I's and II's lowered themselves down to the arena by their web while the Blade Balls, the more enhanced versions, came from the arena chambers. On the surrounding floor, soft, radiant beams of light caught Angel's attention, and then materialized Nidbots. This time the enemies were in greater numbers.

Dark Angel ran low on blade stars, but she knew her plasma sword would certainly last awhile. And even if her primary weapon exhausted itself, she could resort to her hands and feet, not to mention the arena to her advantage. The battle didn't end just because a fighter ran out of ammunition for every weapon.

The first wave of attackers were the Nidbots. These little robotic critters, a dangerous combination of arachnid and machine, crawled with their eight legs clanking against the surface. They were probably the easiest ones to dispose of, so the black-armored heroine resorted to her sword once more. She bashed, slashed, and thrashed the lot of them into a small, fiery explosion. Then came the faster enemies, the Blade Balls.

These personal security devices were the deluxe models, which featured a higher torque motor fitted with keen, duraplated blades that spun at a quicker rate than their predecessors. As they drew closer to her, they emitted a soft, green glow, followed by the distinctive sound their rotors made.

Wiring and parts dispersed with every hit of the plasma sword. For some that were struck lightly whirled backwards and into the MSRs, making them mistakenly fight among themselves. More and more blade balls tried to surround the fighter, but to no avail they couldn't escape the radius of the sword in whichever way it was twirled. The battle with the blade balls was an ephemeral one.

The last wave came in slowly and calculatedly. The MSRs, though armed with chainsaws and flamethrowers, were a little more intelligent than the other robotics. They advanced with arm-mounted weapons, walking in a similar fashion as the Nidbots did.

Dark Angel readied her sword for a horizontal slash.

The first MSR lurched with its chainsaw, trying to slice the competitor in half. Angel crouched, positioned herself in this fashion to attack, and removed the legs of the robot with a quick swipe of her sword. Once she stood up, another blue menace attempted the same thing, but it missed.

Suddenly, a red one, the MSRII model, aimed its flamethrower at her, and unleashed an endless stream of fire. From afar, a camera panned and zoomed in on the action; and from its feed, it seemed like the fire had engulfed the female warrior, but unexpectedly from behind the robot, sparks and circuitry ripped through its center, as the familiar saber split it in halves. Standing in its place was Dark Angel, cheered by the crowd for such an austere display.

Another MSRII made its approach, albeit its weapon was a bit different. Instead of shooting a stream of flame, it charged up its attack, and released a ball of flame. Dark's attention was on another robot, finishing it off with another well-timed slash. When she turned, standing askant, the fireball struck her right side, and she stumbled forward, lowering the hilt of her saber to the floor to catch herself.

The noises in her helmet warned her of another nanotech lost.

"Uh oh, folks! It looks like the girl's getting a little weary!"

Angel rose to her feet again, pretended to charge with her sword, but threw the last of her star blades--obliterating five of her pursuers. Some of the stars were left over and struck the walls outside the arena, and almost flying into the crowds.

"Round three! Hang in there, Darkkkkkk Angellllll! Hope you like your saur-beasts well done!"

The third round seemed easier than the first two, but that was only because her new foes consisted of three Barlowian Saur-Beasts. This fallacy changed when in specific points on the arena floor, circular plates flipped over and revealed dangerous, metal-spiked fans twirling quickly; and nearby, at strategic parts of the floor plan, where medium-sized orifices appeared, they were actually hidden gas burners, waiting to be lit up to burn whoever happened to be on them.

The Saur-Beasts were big and scary creatures shielded with a tough armor on their backs, which made them a bit arduous to take down. They appeared to be slow, too, but that was part of their facade. Angel learned this rather quickly when one of them charged, moving quickly across the arena in a matter of seconds.

Caught off guard by the sudden rush, she tried to jump over the beast, but it caught her boot and threw her back in front of it. She came crashing down into an agonizing roll on the hard surface. Her Tuferalox armor scraped along the surface and created sparks. By the time she stopped skidding, she was near the edge of the arena, where the electric pit awaited anything that would fall into it.

"Ouch..." she said. "These things are a pain. I better think of another way to deal with these beasts."

She gathered to her feet, deactivated her saber and placed it back into its scabbard. Raising both of her arms, she beckoned the monsters to come and attack her. When they didn't catch on, she taunted them by turning to the side and slapping her buttocks. That surely caught their attention, and they rushed forth all at once.

The timing was just right. As one came close, she rolled over to the side, and let the beast throw itself into the electric abyss. The other two saur-beasts managed to stop a couple of feet in front the edge, turn their bodies, and charge again. This time, however, one of them slammed into her and took her for a wild ride. The beast ran around the arena with her caught in between its big teeth. Terrified at the turn of events, she made a fist and began to beat the beast in the face. It released her near a giant fan--one of the instant death traps littered around the floor.

The blades of the fan blew fierce air into her masked face, making her ears recede as far as possible. She managed to roll away from the fan and avoid a gas burner that tried to set her ablaze with a steady burst of flame.

Angel scrambled to her feet, ran toward another edge of the arena, and tried her trick again. The two beasts charged again, and this time she successfully leapt atop one, ran over it and onto the other, pushing off the second to budge it off the arena. The plan worked and both knocked each other over the edge, creating a large surge of electrical energy. Both were burned to a delightful crisp.

The fourth round came without an announcement by the looks of the chamber doors reopening. However, this time the enemy came as a surprise. They were left over Protopets, the same ones that had been captured but remained malicious as ever. Their little eyes fixed on her, and then a series of sharp, monstrous teeth appeared across their cute faces.

"They still have _those_?" Dark said.

Without any weapon, she parried off each one that tried to attach itself onto her face, arms, legs, and shoulders. One by one, she punched, kicked, or threw them all over the place. When the last one was disposed of into the electric field, hard metal music began to play over the speakers, and then another announcement introduced the final round.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, now for the main event! He slices; he dices. With over five hundred wins--and one loss--we give you our very own, you still love him, Chainnnnn Bladeeeeeeeee!"--the announcer then whispered--"Mega-Death in Mega-Cage."

"Chain Blade?" Angel blinked in confusion.

Without any notice, the floor of the arena lit up with light from below. Moving to the center in belief that the arena was going to be split into equal parts, which might prohibit her maneuverability, she noticed that she stepped onto a translocator. A massive, cylinder cage from above lowered itself, but from where she stood reaching it was impossible.

"Go to the cage! Go to the cage!" the spectators advised.

Dark Angel bent her knees and leapt high as he could. The translocator increased her jump to great heights, and for a short while it was like flying. Once she arrived in the middle of the cage, gravity transistors activated, and made her adhere to the surface of the cage. She walked around a bit until she looked down and saw a frightful sight--the height of the cage from the surface of the arena. What if she fell?

All of a sudden, the big brute known as Chain Blade appeared at the top of the cage, gathering her attention with manic laughter. He hopped down and his feet attached to the cage, too, with the aid of magnetic rings around his ankles. Angel studied the ugly sight of a genetic warrior, and then laughed. Offended by this, he reached behind his back and pulled out two long swords with a sharp reverberation, which were longer than the challenger's body.

"I slice you to pretty ribbons!" he said.

Angel was unimpressed. "You can try, but I promise you that I will defeat you in a single blow."

"Is, that, right? Ha...ha...ha!"

Chain Blade rushed her and slashed viciously. Angel jumped over the blades with the greatest ease, because the brute was too slow. He tried this antic again, but it failed.

"Stand still, you little bug, so I can crush you!"

Angel moved so quickly around the giant that he had trouble keeping his eye on her. In response, he leapt into the air, used his thruster pack to remain airborne, and began to throw his chain-blades, respectively, in hopes that they would eventually hit their target.

Chain Blade wasn't particularly dexterous with his choice of weapons, but because of their immense power, it was reason enough to at least manage to hit his enemy once and be victorious. However, with this new person, he had the most difficult time trying to destroy her. He soon abandoned the idea of striking her in this manner, and resorted back to chasing her and swinging his blades.

Angel had led the goliath to the end of the cage. She had another plan up her sleeve and, once he attempted to hit her again, she went in for the counter. Chain Blade lost his guard for a moment, and it was enough time for her to use her best trick yet; she wound back a boot and thrust it outward, into his loins. The boot made a fleshy sound when it came into contact with his crotch, and she knew she had successfully pulled off her attack.

For the moment, for however long it lasted, she believed that Chain Blade's eyes turned two different colors--one red and the other green. The giant dropped his swords to the arena floor, held himself, and then stumbled forth a few clumsy steps. A long groan expelled from him, and then he slowly fell backwards, off the cage, and toward the bottom arena. Taking up the opportunity to land softly, she leapt off the cage, landed on his back as he was falling, and prepared for a harsh landing.

A few seconds before Chain Blade's body smashed into the floor--sending a ripple across the arena--she jumped off, landing a little rough several feet from him. When the commotion calmed down and the dust settled, she looked at the work she had done, checked the front and back of her gloved hand to flaunt, and grinned behind the mask. The crowd fell into a deep silence.

"And...Chain Blade...is down."--a moment of uneasy laughter--"That was franken awesome!" said the announcer. "Have you ever seen battles like these? Dark Angel is the new champion of the Megacorp Games. Congratulations!"

The audience cheered, clapping and shouting various things that complimented the warrior. Then a new translocator appeared at the center of the arena. Stepping onto it, the new champion teleported elsewhere in the dome arena to claim her prizes.

Back at her ship the happy Dark Angel felt over the thick bag of bolts. In her other arm, tucked under, was a small shoe box which cradled her new shoes, the Graviporter Boots. She was too engrossed in counting her bolts that she failed to notice someone approaching her landing zone. It was the same, mysterious Thugs-4-Less Brute from before.

In a gruff voice, "You're quite the talented fighter. What's your name? Your _real_ name?" The reptilian folded his arms and looked down at her, waiting for a reply.

Dark Angel suddenly put away her bag of bolts, tossing it behind her. Instead of the bag being tossed into the cockpit of the jet fighter, believing the canopy had been opened already, it landed on the other side of the ship and spilled some of its contents onto the Maktar surface. The sound of the bolts rolling around mortified the new champion. Her eyes smiled in embarrassment as she quickly walked around her ship, knelt, and began to recollect her earnings.

"I rather not tell you my 'real' name, mister."

A soft chuckle, "Fair enough. Well, _Dark Angel_, you were really impressive. I've been searching for more exceptional fighters such as yourself to increase the ranks of a newly formed thug alliance. Think you might be a little interested?"

She finished collecting her bolts into their sack, dropped them into her ship, and then climbed abroad. "You want to recruit me into a thug organization? Are you sure you're asking the _right_ person?"

"Yes, recruit."

"What? A big guy like you can't take care of himself?"

"Haha! You've humor, too. But really, we're in need of some more people with different expertises. It's not like we'll be like our brethren whom steals and fights without a cause; we're far different. Our members are from different parts of the galaxy, of this one, and of Solana."

This new development intrigued her. He made it sound as if he created his very own Q-Force, another alliance she had only heard of once or twice.

"What kind of line of work did you have in mind for me, assuming I'm slightly interested?"

The thug brute unfolded his arms, came closer, and leaned on the side of her jet. He spoke with a cool voice that was still a little coarse.

"A tracker."

"A tracker?"

"Yes, our elite team is made up of a group of bounty hunters. We're employed by Megacorp."

"Really? That's funny...I'm..." she paused.

"You too? This is all becoming very, very interesting."

"Who or what are you charged with to apprehend?" she asked.

"Well,"--he scratched the back of his head--"Being a fellow employee of Megacorp, I'm sure you've probably heard about the recent break-in at Todano. It's popular belief that this unknown criminal is raiding and looting specific factories and armories that belong to the company."

"Speak of the devil! If you're referring to the same thief, I'm after him too."

A grin formed along the reptilian's naturally stout face.

"Well then, it seems we both are after the same thing. In that case, why don't I give you my card, and give you some time to reconsider us. As I've already said, with a fine warrior on our side, I'm sure we can catch the criminal in no time."

He offered his business card.

Angel accepted the card, checking and turning it over and back, for other things were written in Bogonian. "The _Manhunters_, eh? Not too bad of a name. And you're located on Snivelak?"

"For all I care, if I can get you on our side, you can change the name of the group," he said, laughing afterward. "Is Snivelak problematic?" He raised an eye ridge.

"Let's just say..." she began, turning her head to look at him, "...I've had a bad experience there, as a former captive. But...that was so very long ago."

"Oh, so sorry to hear that. But I assure you, if anyone tries anything with you, I'll take care of it, personally. You have my word."

That sounded so reassuring. Not that she needed it.

"I'll tell you what, stranger, I must pay a friend back a debt, and then I'll be free to see what your group is all about. How's that sound?"

"Sounds great. I'll be expecting you."

"Sure thing. By the way, how many members do you have for this 'elite' team?"

"Four, so far. All we need is five, because everyone is good at one particular thing. Two members can accomplish what takes an entire squadron to do."

"I sincerely doubt that, but in time we'll see if that holds any truth to it. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you," she said as she extended her hand and shook his.

"The feeling is mutual. See you soon."

The canopy of Dark Angel's ship slid closed. The engines started and sounded powerful. The large fighter slowly rose to a hover, taxied out among the traffic and, with a burst of speed, sped off like a shooting star with a thin, lavender trail from its thrusters.


	3. C3: The Manhunters

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Three

"The Manhunters"

**23:31 - Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ, Bogon Galaxy**

A debt fulfilled, as bargained with Slim, Angela Cross flew in the fighter of her choice that replaced her old, little transport. She was heading toward the planet Snivelak, a safe haven--possibly a utopia--for thugs of various kind. The proposition the mysterious brute had offered back on the Maktar Resort was too enticing, and based on what she learned from the fellow, she thought this made the perfect opportunity to befriend the thugs and amend their differences.

She found a vacant landing zone and positioned her ship for landing, bringing the aircraft to a slow and steady speed. Once she landed, the canopy hissed open and she stood up within the pilot's seat. Almost immediately, she surveyed the sights and sounds of Snivelak, trying to get a little familiar with it, for she had only been to the thug's headquarters once--and that was with a bag over her head.

Snivelak had changed very little since she had seen it; it still smelled rank because of its crimson, polluted waters and, as if to befit the overall effect of the world, even the sky--at night--was covered in a thick, red smog that never left the stratosphere, which also masked the stars to some extent. Vegetation on Snivelak was almost scarce, save for the few mutant mushrooms; the trees, all leafless, served more as a ghastly decoration rather than compliment the planet.

From afar, the same towering headquarters that belonged to the biggest thug organization in Bogon was still operational. This was evident by the occasional aircraft that would fly past overhead and toward the fortress, disappearing behind or off to the side of it. All around the main facility and its neighboring oil refineries, rocky structures that appeared to be volcanic, surrounded the scene, giving off the illusion that there was no other life beyond their borders.

Angel walked with a little conviction toward a group of thug henchmen that huddled near a transport by the edge of the landing zone. They seemed engaged in military conversation, giving separate reports and discoveries. When one glanced in her direction, the rest of the group instinctively turned and trained their weapons at her.

"What's _your_ business here?" one of them inquired in a defensive tone.

Angel reached down behind her, into a back pocket, and revealed a business card. The insignia on the card was proof enough that she was someone important. The reptilians stepped aside, and then one of them gestured with his weapon toward the empty airship that hovered and awaited passengers.

"Welcome, stranger. Get on the transport. It'll take you directly to the base."

She did as she was told and walked past them, acknowledging with a nod to be polite. Once she climbed aboard, tailed by two of the guards, the airship closed its door and took off with a soft jolt. She sat down opposite of the henchmen, on a bench, and crisscrossed her gloved fingers. She looked down at her boots, realizing that the two Snivelakians were burning her image into their minds, either because of admiration or curiosity.

The ride in the airship finally concluded and its door reopened. The henchmen were the first to exit, and then her. When she stepped out onto the streets of the thug headquarters, she marveled at its complex but archaic design; for how ever long it had been erected, the base's automated defenses were older than what the Megacorp HQ used with turret and antiaircraft weaponry; however, it was its architecture that showed greatness and prosperity, probably a reflection of the thugs themselves. Street lamps lit the many ways around the base, and hundreds of thugs, both civilians and soldiers alike, cluttered the area. The place, a little different than what she had seen before, was more densely populated. There was undoubtedly more change for her to see inside.

Her escorts beckoned her to follow as they continued their walk toward the towering skyscraper off in the distance. She took in the different sights of the base, realizing the thugs had become more organized and militaristic in nature. But this new impression they made about themselves was only temporary when she saw a little brawl ensue after an argument pertaining to gambling and debt. She chuckled to herself while her escorts only shook their heads in disappointment.

Turning down another street, they came up to a small compound that housed various types of vehicles, tanks, and aircrafts, as if the thugs had been preparing for an all-out war of some kind for the last year. The hangar doors began to slide close, concealing the more secretive contents of the compound. It was strange seeing how things were being kept secret the further along they walked.

By the time they reached the entrance of the headquarters, Angel's legs had begun to grow weary. It had been a trek to get there, but she had a feeling that this would all pay off. Her escorts halted in front of the doors and turned around on one heel almost simultaneously. She gave a long stretch and shook her head to shake off sudden sleepiness.

One of her escorts reached down to retrieve a small radio device, "Go in. We will inform our superior of your arrival."

Together, they stepped forward and walked past her.

"So who is in charge now? I certainly hope it's not that ugly thug from before."

Behind the mask, Cross still hadn't forgiven the previous Thug Leader for taking her hostage and using her as bait. At the thought of possibly seeing that thug again, she promised herself she would be sure to give him a good boot where it belonged, and then some.

The Thug-4-Less Brute from the Maktar Arena swiveled in his chair just in time to see the newcomer, the new champion of the Maktar Arena, step into his office. He began to rise from his chair, with his massive hands clasped behind him, and greeted the possible recruit with a flirtatious growl. "_Grr_. Nice to see you again, warrior. Please, have a seat so we can get right down to business."

He sat after seeing to it she rested in a comfortable chair across from him. He reclined in his chair, opened a box full of expensive cigars, and took one. He pinched the thick, rugged thing of a cigar between his big lips, and lit it with a match, giving strident puffs thereafter. A few rings of smoke went into the air in front of him.

"I take it you had enough time to reconsider joining the Manhunters?" he said. "Please, remove the mask. I would like to see the real eyes of the fighter in front of me. After all, this business it built on trust and loyalty."

Dark Angel was a bit hesitant to remove her mask, but she complied just this once to win the favor of the thug brute. Reaching up to clasp the sides of her mask, she carefully removed it, and revealed her true self. Her long hair, tied back into a sort of ponytail, flowed down her back.

Seeing this, the brute cracked open a smile. "Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful eyes I guy ever lay eyes on?"--he held his cigar in between his lips--"And that your armor makes you look scary?"

"Hehe! No, to both, but you're the first." She placed her helmet down on her lap, thumping it with her fingers.

"Truly? That's a shame. I figured a good looking lady such as yourself was used to compliments. I actually feel kind of bad being the first. I mean, look at me, I'm a thug."

"That may be true, but you do seem different from all the rest."

The thug broke into laughter at her modesty. "You're too much. Anyhow, let's put these informalities aside..." He opened a binder on his desk, revealed some photos, and slid them over to her.

"These were taken from the surveillance systems of Todona's orbital satellites. If you look closely, you'll find something fascinating."

He watched as her eyes studied the images. The images had been taken from an unknown satellite source, showing a different tale of the thief in his ship, who had removed his disguise.

Cross's face became contorted in thought, contemplating whether or not the thief in the images was really someone she knew. Judging by the physical appearance of him, his ears were similar to hers, striped just the same, but characteristically different in species--he was definitely a lombax. He varied in size and type of lombax, failing to be the Ratchet she knew. The consideration of the thief being from her own galaxy was becoming very plausible, but she would have to actually meet this person to be certain.

"With this knowledge, we can arrest him anytime. Why not fetch him before he strikes again?"

The thug leaned over his desk, put out his cigar, and inhaled deeply. "If we did that and failed, he would be lost to us forever. Why let him know that we're on to him when we can catch him--his buddies too--in the act again, have enough evidence, and put the furry scum--no offense to you--away."

Cross closed her eyes for a moment and moved them behind their lids. "That makes sense. So what do you, the Manhunters, have in mind then?"

The brute rose from his desk, walked over to her, and took a seat atop the edge of the desk. "It's all to be explained shortly. C'mon, I want you to meet the team."

In another area of the Thug HQ, Angela Cross was led through a series of corridors. Eventually, she and the thug went into a double door that marked a laboratory wing. Inside, there were four people of different origin: a Vukovar tribesman from the planet Barlow; a Jobian tribesman, a distant cousin of the first; a Blargian trooper from Orxon, of the Solana galaxy; and the last member, not including herself, was a Thug-4-Less Elite henchman. The group looked like an uncanny bunch that didn't seem to get along together...at first.

"So these are the fantastic four, huh? Not perfect, but no bad either."

The four members finally looked over to their visitors and walked over one by one, standing in single file. Each member had a distinct look: from the Vukovar tribesman garbed in his thick armor and mask, to his distant cousin, who was less noticeably fashioned in similar uniform; the Blargian trooper was in his white space suit, an armor, including a complete mask, that made him look like an astronaut more than a specialist; and, as for the thug henchman, the tall but lanky reptilian, seemed to be more of the serious type, being fitted in complete commando suit, shoulder plates, mask, and armed with a powerful Thrasher Cannon.

The thug brute began to name every member. Each member acknowledged with their individually unique gesture.

"This fine gent is Vukar, from Barlow. Vukar is our air and ground vehicular expert. Need to get somewhere? He'll get you there safely and quickly."

Vukar saluted toward the two with two swords crossed in front of his chest. "Rarr! Thar is no place I can't take you," he said, stepping aside and suddenly retiring to the area from which he came. He stood in front of a big-screen monitor as before.

"This next fellow and Jobian tribesman is Jak, but we refer to him as Jobe. Jobe is our weapon specialist. There isn't a weapon he can't get his claws on without a little persuasion."

Jak, preferably Jobe, simply bowed his head toward Angela. "No weapen is too hard to fine. I shoots for the pleasure."

He, too, joined his distant cousin Vukar by the screen, and both of them watched over the words and images that flashed across the screen. It appeared they were watching a security video that showed the events outside the headquarters.

"From the distant galaxy of Solana, we have here a former trooper (of Drek) turned communications agent. Sandz."

"From Solana?" asked Cross.

"Certainly. That's why his specialty is invaluable. He manages communications for the team and intercepts almost any broadcast, including those of Solana, so we can stay on top of all things that concern bounty hunters everywhere."

"Yes, that is what I do. Solana and Bogon are connected when it comes to news and me. We will always be a step...ahead, you know?" Sandz chuckled to himself, turned sharply, and returned to the monitor screen where his teammates stood. He bumped one of them to the side, spouting something about how their ugliness would mess up the uplink.

Angela shifted her weight to one side, placed a hand on her hip, and then began tapping her helmet against her armor-covered thigh. "And this is...?" she said, her eyes stopping on that of the fourth member of the group.

The thug brute chuckled. "This fellow thug, one of the highest in his class, is none other than Stravek. He's the demolitionist expert. He'll help get you past some of the toughest barriers out there on the field."

The elite henchman raised his big weapon. "Boom! Haha! I will see to it," he said and curled his lips into a long, sharp-toothed smile.

Angela suddenly laughed, already taking a liking to the thug's personality. After a moment, she grew serious again, and then brought up her helmet, as if to pull it on.

"Who is the boss of this elite group? You?" she asked, becoming Dark Angel again when she pulled on her helmet.

The thug brute laughed and looked sheepish. "No, no. Don't I wish it, sometimes. I'm just the recruiter. The name's Griff. The boss behind the team only makes her appearance time to time to relay orders."

"_Her_?"

"Yeah. A fine woman and leader. You'll see who she is sooner or later..."--he was interrupted by Sandz--"See? I spoke too soon! Come, let's see what the Manhunters' first mission will be like."

Griff, Stravek, and Angel went over to the screen to join the others. A message had been received on an encrypted channel, supposedly something from the boss of the Manhunters. Sandz typed in some commands on a keyboard to decode the message, and then a vid-memo appeared on the screen, the syntax of the message was a little blurry, but soon transformed into legible text.

"This is interesting," said Sandz, reading over the message quickly.

Angel studied the avatar of the team leader whose dark silhouette of a bust was all that could be discerned. She wondered why the leader's face remained cryptic. Dismissing her muse, she turned her attention to Sandz, who began to translate the message into something more verbally comprehensible for his teammates.

"From the boss, according to the reports from Jakata City, Jakata, the thief is on the move again, looting one of Megacorp's transportation manufacturers. And this time he has an accomplice, possibly robotic. If we leave now, we should be able to capture them."

"If thiz thief has a friend, then let me at him. I will make short werk of him," Stravek said.

"In that case, Shravek and Dark Angel, you two can handle this first mission. It will give you both some field experience." Griff made the suggestion. "Are you in, Angel?"

"What will be my field of expertise?" she asked.

"We need a trooper out there who can give us an overview of the situation. Your combat skills are something short of amazing, so you should have no problems gathering intel."

Dark Angel nodded. "Very well. Then count me in. I'll be glad to lend a hand in this for Megacorp. _This_ job seems to be a little more exciting than my 'microscopic' one."

The members of Manhunters looked at each other in confusion.

"Enough talk!"--shouted Vukar--"I will fly yer two to Jakata. Gear up, quickly."

Angel announced, "I need to stock up on my weapons."

Jak stepped toward her. "Follow me, then. I will take youz to the weapons storage room."

Jak and Dark Angel exited the meeting room, heading to the weapons storage room, and being followed by the ever ready Stravek.


	4. C4: The Thief

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Four

"The Thief"

**02:23 - Planet Jakata, Megacorp Transportation Manufacturer (MTM), Bogon Galaxy**

By the time the Manhunters' drop ship entered the air space, swooping in low of the futuristic and verdant city of Jakata, it was early in the morning, and not too many air cars flew across the aerial streets. Skyscrapers sometimes reached as high as into the clouds themselves and, on top of these towering buildings were satellite dishes, small radio towers that emitted red lights and consumer billboards advertising the latest trend. The morning sky had a navy tinge, which reflected off the glass of the buildings, providing the city with an overall sea effect that looked amazing at night just as it did in the early morning.

En route to one of Megacorp's distribution centers, one in particular that manufactured various kinds of military and consumer transits in abundance, the drop ship swerved every now and again to avoid power cables that sometimes connected between buildings. On board, Stravek checked over his Thrasher Cannon while Dark Angel stood and held on to the railing of one side of the ship. She appeared to be gazing out through the drop ship's side window.

"This place is...gorgeous."

The elite henchman looked up for a moment from where he was sitting at the back of the ship, with his clawed hands still fine tuning his powerful weapon, and mentioned the first thing that came to his mind.

"Say what?" said Stravek.

Angel turned her head slightly to repeat what she had said before. "I said this place is _beautiful_."

"I thought thatz what you said. Haven't youz been here before?"

She shook her head. "No, I haven't."

The lizard thug then pulled on his protective helmet, cradled his weapon in his hands, and walked over to her. He stood beside her, adjusting his footing to keep balance as the drop ship rocked back and forth, veering to avoid the buildings.

"I've been here before. Too shiny for a guy like me."

She looked at him. "What's your reason before for coming here?"

"About six yearz ago, I was a regular thug who aspired to be something more. As my first test, something to initiate myself into the Thugs-4-Less gang, I hadz to frag my first. It wuzn't the easiest thing to do. I couldn't killz another living thing then, so I turned a robot into scrap metal instead."--he scratched the tip of his nose with the butt of his weapon--"It wuz my first time doing something cool."

"Is that your 'real' reason or was it something else?"

"I just took a likingz to blowin' stuffs up!" He laughed.

Angel said in a sardonic voice, "How original."

"So what have youz done to be so cool before?"

"Me?" she thought. "I dressed up like a thief, stole Megacorp's original Protopet, and inevitably got caught. That's when I met that lombax from Solana. He was the one who took the experiment from me."

The lizard's eyes grew large. Suddenly, the drop ship rocked hard, so he placed his weapon in one hand and used the other to grip the railing above as she did.

"Y'know, I heard about _him_. Rat-chet's his name. I even had the pleasurez of meeting him once on Snivelak."

Angel seemed quite interested and turned her body toward him. "Oh, yeah? What happened afterward?"

"He broke my jaw." At the memory of Ratchet, for a moment, he seemed to grimace. "And that wuz that."

The voice of Vukar, the pilot, came over the loud speakers in the back of the drop ship. A second later, a green light lit up in the back and the ship's motion came to a still. The ride had ended.

"We are here. Get out. Call when you have the thief. Vukar will be flying around."

Dark pointed behind her, toward the pilot's seat; "Is he always this friendly?"

Sravek checked the small com link attached to his forearm, making sure it was operational, and then shrugged with a hint of indifference. "Yar, Vukar is being Vukar."

The door of the drop ship slid open and revealed the concrete street of the transportation facility. Together, both teammates leapt off and took off in strides toward the massive complex. A few moments later, the drop ship lifted off and disappeared beyond the drop zone.

The complex of the transportation manufacturer was enormous: with a large, square area that stretched on for a mile, and intersected perpendicularly by two smaller roads, these roads were what separated four individual warehouses; and on each roof, there were gigantic satellite dish relay stations, and a light tower accompanied those like most roofs in the city. Oddly, there were no signs of guards in the vicinity. Something was amiss.

"It's too quiet," Angel remarked. Stravek simply nodded in agreement, moving along with his weapon held low in his hands. He was ready for some excitement.

Unexpectedly, the sound of hard rock music could be heard picking up in crescendos as if it were coming toward them from somewhere. The music was a bit muffled, or at least the words of the music, but it definitely grew in intensity, for the ground beneath the Manhunters had already begun to tremble. Something big was making its way to them.

By the time they reached the intersection of the main road, one of the walls of a hangar off to their side fell forward suddenly in a dramatic fashion, and then a tank emerged--something newly conceived by Megacorp--crumbled the wall with its treads. The sound of the former hangar wall crunching beneath metal treads put a little fear into the duo, but they readied themselves for something spectacular that was about to happen.

While the tank made its way to the center of the intersection, the two Manhunters decided to split up, to each his or her own shelter behind neighboring buildings. The blaring music originating from the side-mounted speakers grew louder than before and the heaviness of the ground vehicle made their world shake as it made its approach; the tank suddenly came to a halt, the mechanic sound of its long nozzle slowly turning to aim at something.

"Welcome, friends! It was nice of you to drop by. Hahaha!" came a robotic voice which droned from within the tank over the music.

From Dark Angel's perspective, as she looked over to where Stravek hid behind a building, she noticed that he made an attempt to run away, but a huge explosion engulfed his cover, sending him and his weapon several feet into the air. Some several seconds later, he landed on the hard, grassy surface not too far way, writhing in agony. He gathered himself sluggishly, propping himself up pitifully with an elbow, as he made a gesture for her to run as fast as she possibly could away from her cover. The enemy already knew where she was.

She did as he suggested and managed to get several feet feet away before her cover, too, exploded in epic proportions: bits of wood, steel and other materials, not to mention soil, became a downpour. Turning around, she faced the tank that made its approach. In response, she equipped her Star Blade and aimed for the treads of the vehicle before sending them on their way.

The blade flew across the scene like a bullet, breaking into stars as it came into contact with its target. They ignited sparks along the wheels and treads of the tank, causing a slight explosion. It seemed she managed to cripple the drive on one side, but the massive thing continued to wheel forward, although slower than before.

From her side, a long and thick, green energy blast shot forth. The blast had originated from Stravek's Thrasher Cannon; and when the blast struck the tank's side, an impulsion of green severely damaged the tank. Dark suddenly knew the elite lizard hadn't joked when it said he loved blowing things up.

The tank wobbled a bit. Its regular speed had deteriorated. From the top of the tank, its occupant pushed open the lid, and climbed out. Standing in the top hatch of the determinedly forward-moving tank was a tall robot, with arm-mounted weaponry ready. His eyes glowed a bright orange incandescence. The robot looked in Stravek's general direction while the lizard positioned his body--lying on his stomach--to get another lock on the tank.

The lizard fired again from his powerful weapon.

Before the energy blast struck the tank again, the robotic villain leapt high into the air, and narrowly escaped the fiery explosion that completely leveled the tank. The music from before became inaudible. And when the robot came down, it broke the surface below it, showing that it was heavier than it appeared to be. In a fluid motion, it rushed over to Stravek in a pace so fast that it created an afterimage of itself. This caught the manhunter off guard, and he lowered his weapon in surprise.

The robot magically stood in front of him, reached down with an arm, and collared him painfully. Not knowing what to do in time, Angel ran over as quickly as possible. While running over to the two, the gigantic shadow of a ship materialized from overhead. Seeing this, she stopped, looked up, and saw that it was the unknown lombax thief, who wore no mask. The thief studied the scene below his stolen aircraft, narrowed his gold eyes, and shouted an order through the plane's speaker.

"Let him go, XL-17. It's time to go," said the thief.

The robot looked up at its master, and then back at the thug. The robot stood there as if lost in a moment of indecision. Stravek took advantage of the delay to position his weapon against the robot's chest and fire. The new blast threw them both back several feet apart, badly damaging the robot by the close range blast. Shravek's chest armor, however, suffered from incendiary burns, and it gave off plumes of smoke where it had been charred black.

This new predicament put the thief in a dilemma. Should he choose to stay and fight to retrieve his robot, or should he just leave to prevent his capture? By the flaring of the stolen ship's propulsion, the bounty hunters knew he had chosen the latter, and they watched as he flew off, disappearing into no more than a sparkle in the morning sky. It was already too late to signal Vukar for the chase.

"He got away..." said Angel, making her way over to the damaged and inoperable robot left behind.

Stravek trudged over, appearing a bit injured from battle with one hand over his chest and the other with his weapon trained on the enemy bot.

"We can getz some information of the whereabouts of the thief with this thing."--he reassured while bringing the com link on his forearm to his lips--"Vukar, we need transport."

Dark Angel placed a firm boot on the robot's chassis, glaring at it behind her mask. "It would make great scrap metal, don't you think, Stravek?"

Stravek chuckled for the first time. "Or a can opener."

**07:34 - Planet Veldin, Kyzil Plateau, Solana Galaxy**

Back in the Solana galaxy, on the planet Veldin, Ratchet was putting the finishing touches to the new engine that would go in his star fighter. The sound of his wrench turning bolt after bolt filled the air, coupled by the natural sounds of the sea churning and lapping against the side of the plateau of his home. Beside him, sitting on top of an empty oil drum, was a pocket-sized communicator--a small screen that acted very much like a video radio. It was on the last time he checked, so he could receive news from the Galactic Rangers. For a little while, the small screen showed only static, and then an image, followed by a robotic voice, appeared without warning. Ratchet motioned his ears first toward the new sound before completely turning his head.

"Sarge! Are you there?" came the desperate voice of a ranger.

Ratchet turned with wrench in his gloved hand and gave a quick salute. "What's the word? Did you troopers manage to arrest the guy?"

In a frightful voice full of uncertainty, "Er...not _exactly_, sir. The stranger has already destroyed several cars, building sides, and other property. Our weapons can't even faze him because of his Infernox armor. He's too powerful for us to deal with. Even in our great numbers, the weapon he wields...is scary, Sarge!"

Ratchet gave a slight grin at the first part of the report. "Something tells me you guys are the ones who are destroying most of the scenery there. Even _I_ know you troopers can't hit too much. You guys lack precision. Still, someone has to deal with this impersonator. I find it strange, though, that he's gotten a hold of the strongest body armor on the market. Not even ordinary citizens can afford a thing like _that_."

"Uh no! He's heading this way. Ahh!" the trooper dropped the vid-cam on the street, which projected everything upside down, including the rangers running backwards and some frantically firing their weapons in retreat, until the impersonator's heel stood at the front of the visual. The walking of the impersonator in the Infernox armor finally desisted, if only for a moment to pick up the vid-camera and say a few words into it. From the front of his armor there were all sorts of sparks and plasma burns caused by the galactic rangers.

"_I_..._challenge_..._you_, _Ratchet._" The voice was cold, robotic, and psychopathic in nature.

From what clues Ratchet could gather about the machine bot padded with carbonox armor was that, whatever it was, seemed to be similar in height and breadth; its ears were definitely constructed to resemble a lombax's, and every inch of it, it seemed it was covered in metal. Whoever created the machine was obviously talented, and not to mention demented.

The visual provided by the vid-cam abruptly truncated by the tightening grasp of the bot. Enraged, Ratchet slammed the panel to his ship's engine. He had finished it rather abruptly. He wiped his gloves clean of grease with a small rag, and then threw it off to the side. At his feet there was a big, metallic case, which he lifted in one hand, and motioned with it toward the front of his ship. He bent low, pulled down a hidden hatch below the nose of the ship, and pushed the case inside an extensive compartment.

He closed the hatch, stood up, and looked over his ship. His face shone great satisfaction that he had everything he needed for battle. He reached over to his right to turn off the communicator. Leaving it behind, he climbed the foot stool next to the long, right wing of his ship, into the cockpit, and pressed a button to seal the canopy. Entering a few commands, the ship's ignition system started with a low rumble and, with a flick of another switch, the lombax could hear the roar as well as feel of the engine warming up. With a pull of a lever, the ship's wheels retracted, the ship hovered, and he gripped the flight stick in his hands.

"Let's take it to him, Ratchet," he grinned most wickedly. "Woohoo!" His body pressed back in his pilot's seat with great force as the ship burst off at great speed.

The lombax performed a swirl, creating a trail of white smoke in his wake. In his rear view mirror he could see his home world getting smaller and smaller, and soon it disappeared and became just another bright jewel in the vacuum of space.

The galaxy's greatest hero was making his reappearance once again.


	5. C5: The Impersonator

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Five

"The Impersonator"

**11:17 - Kerwan, Metropolis, Solana Galaxy**

Many things moved; rapidly discerning organic and inorganic alike, in the city of Metropolis on the planet Kerwan, behind the dreary orange glow of the psychotic robot's visor. To others who were the spectators of the combat scene, they attested to how adjacent skyscrapers, naturally intertwined with the vegetation of the planet, were set ablaze--with windows shattering--the instant the robot's weaponry struck them; in addition, the beautiful trees and plants were ignited instantaneously with every brush against the molten lava stream from the machine's Lava Gun. Despite the conflict occurring high atop the catwalk of a building, which overlooked the center of the city and its heavy traffic, the civilians in airborne vehicles continued to rush past above the war zone without stopping and risking their lives.

For as long as the battle has ensued after the appearance of the robotic menace, the galactic rangers had already dubbed the unassailable machine _Infernox_, because of its inexplicably resilient body frame and head armor constructed of the best alloys in the galaxy--Carbonox and Magnaplate. The rangers knew their weapons were mediocre at best with every shot that attempted scorched Infernox's thick armor plating, triggering its protective shield barrier, but in spite of the hopelessness in the situation they continued firing volley after volley. The advanced shielding technology of the robot masked its brilliant chassis with a sleek, red coat of energy, showering in a brief radiance of electricity which sometimes crackled and sparked whenever the rangers' shock rounds would try to penetrate its defense field. It was not only dangerous to come into contact with the machine's shielding but also very foolish, for its barrier would emit a short wave of electricity to singe the nearest objects around it.

The irony in it all, the rangers believed, was the appearance of the enemy, who looked like Solana's greatest hero, whose identity could easily be mistaken for the shape of the body armor and how it looked exactly like the short lombax. The only thing that marred the almost perfect design of the hero was the cold, sadistic, and robotic intonation it would occasionally drone.

"Keep firing! Keep firing!" said the galactic ranger in charge. "We mustn't let that thing through the first line."

Several of the rangers fired their shock blasters in a frenzy, missing and landing shots on the being that advanced slowly, determinedly. Their rounds continued to either bounce off or scorch the armor of Infernox. The red and thin rectangular visor on its mask gleamed a moment, as if to signal its next attack with its weapon. It lifted its weapon, aimed it toward a small row of rangers that formed the first line, and released a quick, steady stream of magma. The downpour of lava came fast, disintegrating everything in its path except for the hard surface, which left a black, stringy trail of char where the lava had been.

The rangers shrieked in absolute cowardice when the tendril of lava swept past, narrowly missing them. For the unlucky few, the lava had rained somewhere on their bodies, and then that part of them slowly deteriorated. Thereafter, those who were affected by the lava gun's hot stream would then erupt in a ball of flame and explode into fiery bits of metal and bolts. Nothing that could identify a ranger was left behind.

Infernox finally released the trigger of its gun, making the seemingly endless stream of lava recede and dissipate into its nozzle. He lowered his weapon to inspect his destructive work, or what was left of the first line of galactic rangers, who were distancing themselves from the menacing weapon. On the surface, many black, thin trails, sometimes interconnected, told a story of how the first wave of rangers were captured in the hot web of doom.

Several feet from the scene, in between the rangers and the enemy, was Darla Gratch; the robot newswoman--reporting to Sixty-Four News. For a while, the newswoman has been keeping the concerned viewers of Kerwan and the rest of the galaxy up to date on the unbelievable situation. With microphone in hand, she turned her attention over to Infernox, the cameraman panning the camera, and then televised.

"This is Darla Gratch, of Sixty-Four News, bringing you the latest update on the situation in Kerwan, Metropolis. Despite the heroic efforts of the Galactic Rangers, it seems this metallic menace is really withstanding everything thrown at it. From the looks of things, for the viewers at home, if you look carefully at the robot which is now being called the dreaded Infernox, you'll find that it is shaped and bears a shocking resemblance to our very own galactic hero, Ratchet. Who would design a model so conspicuous? Nevertheless, Kerwan is in need of a hero right about now."

Off to the side of the cameraman's angle, a black ship began its slow descent. Turning the camera to face the newcomer arriving on the scene, Darla walked back in front of the camera and gave another update.

"What's this? I spoke too soon, folks! Just a minute of mentioning the ever famous Ratchet, the lombax of Veldin just magically appears,"--she chuckled, approaching the hero's ship--"Let's get a quick word or two from Solana's savior and see what he has to say about this Infernox."

Ratchet hopped out of the canopy of his ship, pulled down a small lever on the side of it, and removed the heavy case, dragging it a little along the surface to the side before opening it. Inside, his eyes looked over the many weapons he brought with him. Soon, a shadow flushed over him and he motioned his head over his shoulder to see who it was.

"Ratchet! How's it going?" Darla asked.

The lombax rummaged through his case of weapons. He removed an old favorite, the Gravity Bomb, and grinned to himself. Reaching into the case once again to retrieve another powerful weapon, he gave an askant stare into the camera, remembering suddenly the question asked.

"Well, you know how it is, things have been fine as always with me. Heh. I heard Kerwan was being attacked and I happened to be in the neighborhood, so I figured I'd come down here and deal with the problem right away."

"I see. So...does this mean that you're back in the hero business or are you simply filling in your old shoes, so to speak? And do you have any strategic plans for dealing with the Infernox menace today?"

The lombax turned to face the camera, still in a crouch, with gloved hands resting down at his sides. He raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you guys are calling it now? Infernox? Hm."--he smiled a little--"I guess my plan is to see what it's been doing all this time and look for some weaknesses. As you probably already know, I haven't been on the battle field for a while, so I'm kind of rusty. And to answer your first question, Darla," he said, holding up a finger, "no, I'm not officially back, so you could say this is just a temporary affair. If there's trouble somewhere and I'm nearby, I'll be there."

He reached back inside the case and revealed a Liquid Nitrogen gun.

"Ah, I see. Nonetheless, it's great to see you back in action." Darla laughed briefly. "Infernox--that's the name the Galactic Rangers have given it, and it holds true because of its design. What do you think of its armor? And do you believe that just maybe, somewhere at there, that some mastermind is trying to take a stab at your reputation by conceiving such an atrocious machine in your likeness?"

Ratchet stopped what he was doing, stood up, and turned to study the battle scene occurring in the background. He rubbed his chin, and then shrugged.

"Whoever designed it, I doubt my past enemies (Drek or Dr. Nefarious) has anything to do with this. But if it's a machine, it can be destroyed all the same. There hasn't been a bot I couldn't put down with my wrench. Whoever made that thing, this _Infernox_, he did a pretty poor job. I'm way better looking than that rust bucket." The lombax grinned sheepishly.

The lombax removed one more large weapon from his case. Closing the case, he put it back into the small compartment of his ship, and then climbed to his feet with one of the weapons in hand. With his eyes fixed on the scene, he quickly finished his brief interview with Darla, and began walking down some stone stairs. Darla and cameraman followed him for a few moments, trying to get all the footage they could of the hero.

She fired a few more questions. "So, Ratchet? No head gear? No gadgets? No commando suit? Do you truly feel prepared for this fight?"

During this time, the cameraman positioned the camera to zoom in on the hero's body, motioning it up and down.

The lombax stopped, turned slightly, and gave a sly look into the camera, winking once. "Darla, you're talking to a guy who went through Solana half-naked before during the time of Drek. I had no commando suits then. All I had were my pants, my chest belt here, and..."--he suddenly remembered that he was missing something or someone--"Clank."

"Very true!" said Darla. "And what are those new armored pants you have on? And what of Clank? Is the star too engrossed in making his movies than to be here on Kerwan to help you?"

Flattening his ears, Ratchet gave a reassuring, confident smile. "Before I left Veldin, I decided to pack and dress light. Why be weighed down in heavy battle gear during flight? However, speaking of commando suits, these armored pants belong to one of my old suits. This was something given to me during my stay in Bogon, I believe."

"Going for a new, old school look, huh? No bad, Ratchet."

"Heh. You could say that, Darla. As for Clank, well, I'm sure that's not the case. I bet he's just busy as I speak, but if he could I'm sure he would've been here with me. After all, Holostar Studios is halfway across Solana." He managed a small smile. "With or without the little guy, the job needs to get done one way or another."

"I'm sure our viewers at home and all around the galaxy understand. And without further ado, we'll let you do your thing now. Good luck, Ratchet!"

"Thanks!" he said, turning to descend the stairs in front of him.

Darla turned to the camera and gestured toward Ratchet with a hand. "There you have it, Kerwan--Solana. If there's a problem, throw a 'ratchet' at it."

The lombax made his way down to the catwalk of the building. He walked in a casual manner, taking in the explosive sights between the rangers and Infernox. Making his way over to the rangers, one of them shouted in excitement, renewed that the situation was about to change for the better (and that he and the others could probably leave now).

"Hey, Sarge! Glad you could make it. We were getting a little worried that you wouldn't make it in time."

Another cowardly voice rang from the back of the group. "Sir, glad you could make it. This robotic nut has us on a run for our bolts. He's got a Lava Gun that keeps us pinned down."

"Just look at the black scars on the ground! The black scars! The black scarsssss! Ohh, ohh, the horror," came the mournful voice of another ranger.

Ratchet examined the war zone around him, noticing several bolts, nuts, and debris strewn over the rooftop surface. Blockades made of stone had been toppled; and among the debris, as long and narrow objects, the things that would normally dot the catwalk, had turned black from being charred, and he could only presume that the former trees and street lamps had been shot down between the exchange of gunfire. Buildings that neighbored the catwalk shared a sad story of broken glass, fire, and screams. All of these things invoked a different kind of emotion in the lombax, growing in intensity.

"Incoming!" cried out a ranger.

Hero and rangers ducked behind the remaining blockages, which shielded them from the stream of lava. When the quick string of lava subsided, Ratchet readied his N-60 Assault Rifle and barked an order.

"All right, rangers! Leave this bucket of bolts to me. Clear the area. I'm going to need room to make a mess."

The rangers moved out, running from the battle zone. On the catwalk, there was only the lombax and Infernox. The machine approached without intimidation, stopping short in front of the barrier that shielded the lombax. They faced each other. Then it drew its weapon onto the lombax and charged its gun. In a flash, Ratchet appeared a few feet off to the side with his weapon fixed on the chest plate of the machine, the barrel of his assault rifle glowing orange.

"Boo!" was all Ratchet said, and then fired a continuous succession of strong blasts.

The powerful blasts of the N-60 were enough to push back the Infernox, penetrating its shield and chipping little bits of its armor, but it still remained on its feet. After taking several blasts and being forced back against a guard rail near the side edge of the catwalk, Infernox increased its shield defense to its highest capacity with a press of a hidden button on its forearm. The last few blasts from the N-60 were repelled, deflected to uncharted areas of the city, and some of which having slammed into neighboring, conterminous skyscrapers, causing their rectangular windows to explode on impact.

"That wasn't enough for you, eh? Try this..." the lombax pointed and smirked.

He equipped his Gravity Bomb launcher, aimed, and fired a round bomb at the robot's feet. The bomb came into contact with the catwalk surface and engulfed the whole area and the machine in a spectacular sphere of fire and destruction. Moments later, the blast radius collapsed onto itself, but the robot was nowhere to be seen. It could only be presumed it had been sent over the ledge of the catwalk from the blast.

Ratchet tossed aside his depleted bomb launcher, walked over to the guard rail where the robot had been, and looked over to see where it went. Unexpectedly, a blur exploded into the air, startling the hero and making him fall back. The railing he had bent over broke the in the instant of Inferno's return, where it had smashed into it with its metallic boot.

Ratchet looked up into the sky, at his impersonator. It slowly made its descent back onto the surface of the catwalk a few feet in front of him, and on its back was a thruster-pack unlike anything the lombax had ever seen; a new design that was probably from another quadrant of Solana.

"Okay, you got me. I didn't expect you to have your _own_ thruster-pack," said Ratchet, shaking his head in disbelief.

_"You...will...die,"_ came the same cold, robotic voice as before.

The lombax laughed. "Is that _all_ you can say?"

He waited from the machine to land on its feet and, when it disengaged its thruster-pack, he brought around his last weapon--the Liquid Nitrogen gun. Similar to the robot's Lava Gun, a stream of blue liquid poured over the robot, covering it in thick sheets of ice. After dousing the it with a few layers of the chilly liquid, it froze Infernox inside a giant ice cube which immobilized it completely. With a whoop, the lombax cheered to himself and slowly walked over to the frozen robot.

He stood in front of it, admiring how well his weapon had worked against Infernox. He grinned when he saw his reflection. Upon a closer inspection of the masked machine, he saw from behind the thick ice that the machine's eyes, behind the translucent visor, stared back with a devious, crimson gleam. This unsettled the lombax, so he pulled out his Omniwrench and held it high, gathering enough strength to put an end to the enemy once and for all.

Small plumes of smoke billowed off the block of ice as if the heat captured inside it was growing tremendously. Seeing this, Ratchet wound back his wrench even more and prepared to strike when the ice block erupted in his face, throwing him back several feet. In the middle of the explosion, there stood the machine with water dripping off its body--off its armor-covered ears, its big and thick fingers; its metallic-ringed tail.

"Grr! You just won't go down." Ratchet growled in frustration.

Not saying one word, Infernox remained motionless and waited for the hero to leap into action. Just as calculated by the robot, its eyes followed the movements of the lombax. Ratchet climbed to his feet, leapt into the air, and performed a hyper-strike. When the hero came down with his wrench squarely on the forehead of the machine, making a loud clank, he realized the powerful move hadn't fazed it, and then something happened. An explosive aura of Infernox energy enveloped them.

Trapped within the explosion of energy, which meant the machine went into its Inferno mode, the energy electrified the lombax for several long, agonizing seconds. He could feel all the muscles in his body tighten in unison, and he lost control of all voluntary function. However, he never screamed out in pain, because he had too much pride for that. By the time the electrifying experience ended, the force field launched the Veldian and his wrench a few feet into the air, the furry body painfully hitting the surface headfirst, followed by the powerful clanking of the wrench a couple of feet away.

Ratchet and his wrench gave off smoke. A groan came from him as he endeavored to lift himself up, painfully, but dropped. He laid there, helpless, defeated and still, slipping into unconsciousness. The galactic rangers and Darla, as well as all of the other spectators from afar were taken aback, confounded by the discomfited hero. In the history of all great battles, there has never been a chapter, a story of Ratchet's defeat--until now.

Infernox's inferno mode wound down with a small explosion that peeled back trees, plants, and the fragile, broken clinker blocks the rangers had used to form the blockades. It even shook or split some of the suspension cables of the catwalk, causing a few of the long, massive wires to slam against its structure, denting the hard surface of the bridge. The small force had even turned Ratchet's body over onto his back, and his trusty wrench disappeared somewhere among the surviving shrub.

A moment later, a shadow loomed over Ratchet. A metallic boot appeared and pressed over the his throat. It was nearly his end until something caught the machine's attention. The galactic rangers stormed the scene, taking aim and waiting to see what it was going to do. Instead of terminating the lombax, the robot gripped him by one of the straps of his chest belt and dragged his body toward the edge of the catwalk. The sight of the lombax's arms and legs moving limp across the surface of the catwalk street, his body being dragged along like garbage, truly hurt the rangers' morale, and through the ranks some of them spat a curse or growls and said things to dare themselves to stop the villain.

The ranger in charged held up his hand, "Don't fire! Don't any of you dare! You may hit the Sarge or worse--give that metal nut case a reason to harm him," he ordered, lowering his head to his shock pistol, preparing to fire just in case the opportunity presented itself.

The galactic rangers watched helplessly as Infernox activated its thruster-pack once more and ascended with the limp form of Ratchet in its tight grasp. Their ready weapons followed the two as they flew off, but they couldn't fire a round. Then they lowered their weapons, stood up altogether, and holstered their firearms.

**12:24 - Lot 42, Holostar Studios, Solana Galaxy**

The set was silent with the wave of the director's hand. Actor robots stood in their respective places around a wooden table adorned with wine glasses and stools. With cameras strategically positioned in different points in the room, the suspense weighed heavily in the air, choking the internal gears of each robotic actor that replayed repeatedly a scene of failure in their minds. Standing atop a slick and stylish bar, under the gaze of overhead light fixtures, was the familiar--the ever famous--secret agent robot named Clank. The diminutive robot was dressed in his casual black suit and tie.

"All right, let's get it right, people," said the director through his microphone. "And...action!"

The sound of film reels inside the multiple cameras throughout the room began to roll, and then the action commenced.

The actor robots, dressed in ninja outfits, revealed their beam scythes. They moved from where they started at a quick pace, turning tables and shattering glass about the room as they made their way toward the secret agent. In response, Secret Agent Clank leapt off the bar top in a forward flip, landed in the middle of his pursuers, and readied his tiny fists, looking back and forth in a calculated manner.

Secret Agent Clank successfully dodged the first attacker who lunged at him. Using the back of his first attacker for momentum, he performed a side flip, and landed a drop kick on another robot actor. Two other bots came with their weapons twirling in a display of skill. When they finished their weapon twirling, they slashed at Clank, appearing to be lightning fast on the camera. With a mere dodge and into a split, Clank managed to dodge the edges of the purple-glowing sabers. Upon the successful evasive maneuver, he reversed his split and moved in one fluid motion to perform an uppercut, lifting one of the small robot actors off his feet. He sent the enemy in midair, turned around in a side kick position, and knocked the other actor on his back.

"Get him!" ordered the familiar and favorite villain Maxmillian from past episodes.

From behind a table, from the view of the cameras, the large robot always fitted in the same business attire held an expensive cigar between his metal lips. He bore a countenance of agitation, narrowing his robotic eyes into nefarious slits, as they followed the movements of Secret Agent Clank around the room.

The assassins, as if to acknowledge the order given, all rose to their feet and attacked together from every direction. Clank leaped over the first few of attackers and onto the bar, sliding skillfully across on two legs and making his exit outside a window. The window broke with success, sending in bits of glass into the set's interior. On the outside of the set, where the back of the wall of the window fire escape had been painted to resemble the side of the bar's brick building, Clank leaned back against the cardboard wall, watching as a lot of his attackers threw themselves out after him. The gang of bots landed outside the set, away from the angle of the camera to show that they fell to their dooms. The sound of a busy street far below the bar could be heard in the background, and then a camera positioned its lens on Clank, showing that he was safe and standing on a ledge.

"Cut! That's a wrap. Take ten, everyone, and then we'll finish the final scene."

A bit relieved, the small agent gave a brief sigh. He stepped back through the window, entering the bar with a hop. Walking over to the director, he raised his arm to say something. "I'll be in my trailer if you need me."

"Clank, baby, that was a great scene! Keep up the good work. By the way, for creative purposes, I'll be assigning you your very own vid-bot cameraman really soon. The little guy will stick with you through thick and thin, keeping track of your talent in case you do something cool outside the studio. More details on your cameraman later. See you after the break."--the director smiled broadly--"Ever since we got rid of that ungainly 'Jeeves,' things have been better for you. Right?"

The small robot shook his head a little. "I do not know if that is entirely true."

Clank exited the bar set through a side door and walked a short trail to his big trailer.

Inside his trailer, the interior was large. Star power managed to fill the massive space inside with a large entertainment set, posters, trophies, a powerful sound system, three-piece bedroom set, and a personal robotic masseuse. Life seemed good. Despite having all of these things, something felt out of place, or missing, and the old pictures he kept in a display case filled reminded Clank who he really was before stardom.

"Hello, Clank," said his masseuse. "Come over here and let me work out that _firm_ chassis."

Clank giggled. "Heh-heh-heh-heh."

He walked over and plopped down onto his oversized mattress, allowing the femme bot do her special thing on his shoulders and back. While she worked her magic, he reached for the remote to his holo-monitor, pressed a button, and appeared an intriguing infomercial.

"Do you think you have what it takes to be in the same arena with two of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy? _Do_ you think you're man enough? _Do_ you think you're cool enough? _Do_ you think you're hero enough? If you answered yes to any of these, then you're a big, fat liar! Step into the Megacorp Games, sponsored by Megacorp, and brought to you by Mega-View. Located conveniently at the Maktar Nebula and on Joba, we have two challenges for you--the Megacorp Gladiators and Mega-Racing. Enter the Megacorp Gladiator games, featuring our Bio- and Robotic-Competition."

"Heh-heh-heh-heh. This certainly replays memories."

"If you can get through our new and improved gladiators, then you'll be eligible for the main event with Chain Blade (as Chainnnnn Bladeeeeee). If you prefer machine over flesh, then check out the B3 Brawler (as Brawler-Brawler-Brawler). New and improved from the older version, this baby won't show any mercy, so there's no consolation prize...except deathhhh. Ha-ha. So enter to win bolts, bolts, and bolts!"

"I wonder if Ratchet still competes in these competitions for some extra bolts?"

The infomercial announcer continued, "Ha-ha-ha! And from the Maktar Arena, here's a showing of the newest champion."

The infomercial switched over to show exclusive footage of the Maktar champion, a feminine warrior in black armor, smashing and thrashing the competition into mince. To Clank, the warrior appeared tall, mysterious, and wonderfully appealing. A notion came to mind as the remaining highlights of the champion's battle drew to a close, and then the commercial flashed the name of the winner.

"There you have it, folks. Dark Angelllllll--the first female contestant winner. Try to shake a stick at her and she'll bash ya something vicious. Haha."

The infomercial concluded and Clank turned off the holo projection.

"Is that exciting news or what, Clank?" asked the masseuse, scratching his back with a sharp finger to tease him and creating a screeching noise.

"It most certainly is. I believe I should relay this to Ratchet. Perhaps he will be interested in competing in the Megacorp Games once again just to see how good this new champion really is?"

Clank turned to a small holo-screen to his side that sat on a night stand. Pressing a digital, touch-sensitive button, the screen enlarged, and then a list of contacts propagated. Among the many names, the first on top was that of Ratchet's. With a simple touch, the lombax's name flickered, and then a new screen popped up and dialed the galactic number. A little phone icon rattled, showing that the call was being made, but there was no answer.

"Hm, where could he be?"


	6. C6: The Calling of a Captain

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Six

"The Calling of a Captain"

**09:56 - Capital City, Marcadia, Solana Galaxy**

Marcadia was entering the first quarter of its winter season. The azure sky lit the snow-covered buildings of the capital city with a frosty glow of white. Water in the canal that would normally flow blue had long been frozen over, forming a continuous trail of ice down the river banks south of the city. Snow had only stopped its gentle downpour a few days ago, so children and adults gathered in the streets and participated in the annual community projects and festivals. A cacophony of laughter and joyous song filled the snowy streets and alleyways.

At the utmost northern part of the city, before the centre where the holiday activities took place, a tall and archaic capitol senesced, showing its great age by the missing pieces of brick, stone, and color. In its highest tower, two prominent Marcadian figures stood tall and proud, gazing over the center of the city: the tallest of the two was the president of the galaxy; and the other, a bit shorter, younger, and slimmer in physique, was his faithful and trustworthy captain who was in charge of the sound Q-Force and the federation of Galactic Rangers. Behind them, they were attending an important meeting of the city's elders and other prominent figures from other planets in the galaxy of Solana, listening mindfully, as different members debated over the news and events of their galaxy with the greatest concern.

"Mr. President, what is your take on the recent, foreign affairs of distant planets, such as Daxx, Rilgar, Aquatos, Zeldrin, Koros, Mylon, and Kerwan?" inquired a council member of Marcadia.

The rather large and stern lion-like president simply gripped the shoulders of his captain in front of him, lowered his head as if to whisper into the ear of the woman and said softly, "Beautiful, isn't _she_?" He referred to the wintery city.

The captain continued to stare out over the city in wonder, paying little mind to the conversations behind her. The president released her shoulders suddenly, turned around to face his guests, and returned to the table. He slouched to rest his massive hands on the table, clearing his throat before answering the question that had been directed to him.

"To be quite frank, I believe Daxx has always been funded rather generously, and they repay the galaxy with its newest ideas in the technological field. With research labs spanning Solana, it is without a doubt that Daxx is capable in any partnership. As for Rilgar, well, that planet is littered with surf boards, hover boards, electric boards, and all sorts of boards. Its the leading competitor among the galaxy's greatest and most cherished sports. Aquatos, however, has been a bit behind in recent developments, and who can blame them? They're completely submerged!"

A series of laughter went round the table.

"But seriously, there is much reconstruction to be done on that planet. I suggest we offer some of talented architects to 'bring them up' to speed. No offense to any who hail from Aquatos, that's too much water for me."

"Haha," came from a chairman. "You are too much, Mr. President."

The president continued, curling his hands into fist, repeatedly. "Switching over to Zeldrin, that planet is in very much need of reconstruction. With a little persuasion with the surrounding star ports and, not to mention, seeing to an increase in transactions between the planets neighboring Zeldrin, it'll be enough to show that we're committed to maintaining the planet's stability economically and socially. And it's just the stimuli they need to get back on their feet," he said, motioning his head a little over his shoulder to steal a glimpse at his captain. "Koros and Mylon are in dire need of assistance as well. After the stratagem of Dr. Nefarious, we're still mopping up after the pieces. Once things are rebuilt from the ground up, these planets can and will work in tandem, providing support of all sorts of scientific endeavors thereafter. Testing sites, control centers, and everything else related in that area of specialty will be most common, gentlemen."

"Yes, I see what you mean, and I concur with you, Mr. President. Once we establish new colonies, redistribute the populations, provide jobs and health care, things will become tightly bound as things were always before: one planet that becomes successful will help make its neighbors better, stronger. What a fascinating prospect. I suppose what we all need most of all is time--the time to recall, redistribute, and rebuild," said the representative of Koros.

"Excellent, chairman! I'm glad to see someone sees the larger picture as I do. Now...Kerwan. Last I heard, they've been flourishing since the beginning of time."--he cracked a smile--"The city of Metropolis has always been pooling in gigantic--monstrous--revenue with its establishments of city states around the globe. With a little persuasion and the right cause, I believe both Kerwan and Marcadia can be just the impetus the rest of the galaxy needs to get back on its feet."

"Indeed," everyone agreed.

"What say you of our more distant neighbor and sister galaxy, Bogon? Think she will lend a hand in this feat?" asked an elder Marcadian.

The Marcadian captain stole a glimpse of the galactic president behind her, swaying her tail in swift curls. She already had an idea of where the conversation was heading, so she prepared herself with a soft, quiet sigh.

"I have never been to this galaxy--Bogon. But I believe my captain here knows and as most of us all know too that there has been someone from our galaxy who has seen the possibilities of the Bogonians," the President said. "Captain? Care to lend a few words of Bogon from what you've been told?"

The young woman slowly turned around with her arms down at her sides. In a purple and black uniform, a tight-fitting flight jumpsuit, with a small crest of the Q-Force insignia stitched above the breast of the top part, she still wore her hair band that kept her short, ebony hair neat and taut and to fall short on the sides of her head. She threw her hair back for a moment, flexing her ears a bit. She looked over each members around the table with cyan irises, and then at her leader, giving a slight nod as the natural words came to her. Her voice was that of sheer confidence, respect and intelligence.

"Mr. President, Marcadian elders, and respected chairmen of Solana, we all know of whom we speak that had traversed to the ends of this galaxy to the next and back. From him, I've heard many stories of the things he's seen and heard. Bogon is not a galaxy too foreign from our own: both galaxies have their fair share of planets, nebulas, and vastness of space. Our biggest difference lies in technological knowledge."--she began to gesture with a purple-gloved hand--"We have Gadgetron and they have Megacorp. People of Bogon celebrate similar or entirely different religions, but what we do know is that they speak in a similar, if not the same, basic language. Communication is the least of our concerns. What we should be concerned about is how to get and stay connected with each other, and only then will we be able to rebuild our galaxy as we see fit, making it larger, stronger."

"Well said, Captain Sasha," said the President. "Indeed, we must not only push forth in rebuilding our own galaxy but to achieve maturity with the Bogonians. The last thing we need is to have a contravention with them."

"Certainly not that, Mr. President. However, I believe we could use our image, the pride of Solana, to our benefit. The Veldian savior is both a hero in this galaxy and Bogon, so why not elect him to be an official, galactic delegate. Send him on a convoy to Bogon and establish a small part of Solana into their galaxy?" suggested a chairman of Daxx. "What's the worst that could happen? They will either accept our ways or they won't. No harm in asking, right?"

"Certainly not," said another member. "And if we can establish a little bit of Solana piece by piece into that galaxy, we'll soon have a network of trade, and vice versa. The inclination of two galaxies harmoniously working together would be a giant leap in history."

"No, a galactic one!" said another. "The possibilities of improvement are infinite."

The president rubbed his chin in thought, turning to his prized captain who stared back with mutual feelings of the matter.

A Marcadian elder placed his hands together. "Where is this Veldin hero now? We must send for him immediately."

Everyone turned to the captain.

Sasha looked down at the floor for a moment, searching for an answer to appease the elders. "Ratchet is no longer a part of the Q-Force. He is also retired from heroism, as I was told. I suspect him to be where it all began. Veldin."--she gave a polite bow toward the members--"Nonetheless, I will send for him as soon as possible."

"No longer a Q-Force agent? Retired? This can't be so. How can one _simply_ quit what is expected of him?" asked the chairman of Rilgar.

At this, the galactic president raised an eyebrow and beckoned for his captain to be by his side.

"I assure you, chairman, the lombax will return to active duty. I'll see to it. Meanwhile, leave the hero in the capable hands of the captain here. As promised, she'll locate him even if she has to travel to Bogon to do it. Isn't that right?" the president said, taking the woman by the hand. "Captain Sasha is quickly becoming one of the leading authorities of Solana."

A little mortified by the president's suggestive superlative, she managed a smile, showing little, white fangs.

"Very well," one of her elders concurred. "We will task the Captain with this deed."

"Then it is settled," said the President as he gave the captain's gloved hand a soft squeeze. "If there isn't any more business to be addressed, I'd like to adjourn and discuss these matters with the captain."

All members around the table rose from their seats and slowly made their way out of the chamber, continuing their conversations and debates over the topics that had been mentioned during the conference. Once the room was clear of others, the president finally stood upright and looked down at his captain, and then placed a kiss on her forehead. In response, the captain closed her eyes and smiled softly.

"I thought they'd never leave. Business grows tiring, you know?" he said, walking back to the window to survey the city. Behind him, the captain came to his side and placed an arm around his massive back, pulling him close to reassure him.

"Father, you must be mindful of the things you say about me. I may not always be able to make miracles with every task you or the others charge me. I'd like to save a little face, too."

The middle-aged father Marcadian chuckled.

He smiled. "So sorry, I just get a little carried away with how wonderful you are. You couldn't have made me any prouder had you been born a son. And if your mother were still with us, I'm sure she would feel the same way about you, as I do, too."

"Aw, thanks. I miss her;"--she prodded him with a finger, making him giggle--"I have you, though, and I couldn't have asked for a better father."

"You got that right!"

"Heh."

Captain Sasha released her father, grew a little serious, and folded her arms. Many thoughts ran over her mind, but she reminded herself of a matter that has been plaguing her for the longest time. Her unnatural silence caught her father's attention, causing him to perk his ears a little, and then he turned his head to look down at her once more.

"Is something the matter? You seem a little unsatisfied with your new mission."

She bit her nether lip. "No, no. It's not that."

"Then what? Your inability to construct lengthy sentences rouses a concern in me," he said with a big, silly grin.

She gave him a more serious look. "I...I've been contemplating my other options in life."

"Oh? And these options are...?"

"When the chairman asked 'How can one simply quit...' a thought disturbed me."

Her father turned away to conceal a grim look. "I see where this is going..."

"I've been considering my alternatives...I thought about _stopping_ my duties as captain of the Q-Force and leader of the Galactic Rangers. War is no longer a threat--a thing of past. I haven't had many breaks to be with..."

Her old man covered his eyes with a hand, started a chuckle, but averted his gaze, although he peeked between his thick fingers.

"I feared this day would come when you'd be sidetracked by something or someone. It's not that I don't want you to live your own life, it's just I won't have anyone just as capable as you to lead the space force."

Sasha gave him a strange look. "Oh, really? It sounds more like you just don't want me to leave your side. You big baby."

They laughed together.

"Me? A baby? Look at me, I'm the biggest child you'd ever seen in your young life. You're not that old to escape a good o' spanking from your old man."

"Ha! That'll be the day, you old geezer," Sasha said, slapping away her father's hand when he tried to tickle her.

He stared off into the city again just as she had done, watching how little Marcadian children were playing in or building something out of snow. The frozen canal glistened under the bright sun as some daring Marcadians ice skated on it. Suddenly, wave after wave of the planet's common avian creatures flushed past the capital's centre, creating various patterns in the sky, as the many of them fluctuated from the norm of flight. These lively changes occurring across the city helped ease his mind to make a tough decision.

He said without changing in stance, "Sasha, I just want you to be happy with whatever you do. When you find that Veldian..."

Unexpectedly, a young Marcadian courier burst into the room and startled the two. With an urgent message in hand, the messenger briskly walked around the table, holding the letter up above his head. A little incensed about being interrupted in speech, the president shot a little glare in the messenger's direction.

The president bristled. "What's so important that it couldn't have waited a little longer?"

"Sir, an urgent message from Kerwan, Metropolis. It's from the Galactic Rangers stationed there," said the messenger in a hurry, swallowing hard afterward.

"Galactic Rangers, you say?" asked Sasha, stepping forward.

The messenger handed the letter to his Marcadian leader, who promptly put on his reading specs. He read quickly, and then slowly lowered his hand. The messenger gave a salute, then left as fast as he had appeared, closing the door behind him.

Trying to read her father's face, "What's wrong?" she said, as she placed a hand on his arm.

"We've just received some bad news from the planet Kerwan. Earlier yesterday, in Metropolis, it was under attack by some kind of robot."--he gestured as he explained, avoiding eye contact--"This...uh..._thing_ crippled a lot of the rangers there, and then it..."

"Then what, Dad?"

He looked at her with a bit of fright in his eyes. "Then Ratchet came."

"Then how is that bad..." she was about to ask, but then she thought it over for a moment, and frowned, bringing her gloved hands to her mouth.

He clasped her. "He was defeated. Defeated, not killed," he said reassuringly.

"Where is he?" was all she said while looking up at him, into his worried eyes.

"Taken. The rangers don't know where. The only clues as to the whereabouts of the lombax lie in the chips of the robot's armor left behind. It says here, Carbonox and Magnaplate. They called it...Infernox."

She pushed away from him a little bit. "Infernox?"

"Yes, that's what it says. What do you think it could mean?" He folded the message behind her and read his daughter's eyes; they were forming a plan.

"I think it means we'll need to look into what planets are rich with those two elements. Maybe if we find one that is most abundant with one, we'll find Ratchet. I just hope I can track down this Inferno character. If finding these minerals is the case, then I better get going. I must prep Starship Phoenix and the Q-Force for the search and rescue of Ratchet," Sasha said with great conviction, broke away from her father's embrace, and turned to leave the room, but her father latched onto her shoulder.

"Captain, my little girl, be careful. I'm with you on this mission. I'll make the necessary arrangements for the rescue of...your...lombax. I know he means something to you."

Slightly turning her head and nodding, "Thanks, Dad. He means the world to me. I'd appreciate all the help I can get in the search. But if you excuse me, sir, I must go save him now. I'll keep in touch, Father."

He released her. "All right," he said, letting go and watching his only child leave him.


	7. C7: The Myrmidon

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Seven

"The Myrmidon"

**00:45 - Quantum Red Starport, Red Star Nebula, Outskirts of Solana Galaxy**

Ratchet awoke to the faint sounds of heavy footholds gathering behind his head and the chill of the air welcoming his bare body, a swift breeze which disheveled the tufts of his lombax fur to his greatest disliking. As he returned slowly to consciousness, the sudden motion of his ankles, bound by something cold and metallic, told him that he had been fettered in place. His wrists, too, were held by similar objects above his head; his body, stretched out crosswise in a way that felt awkward and too revealing. The muscles of his entire body ached the more he made himself move, in attempt to get free, reminding him little by little with each pang of what led to his capture.

All of a sudden, a pair of gloved fingers touched against his eyelid and forced it open, followed by an orb of light blinding him temporarily. He breathed heavily, trying to force his eye shut, but his examiner kept his eye open to inspect it further. Beyond the circular light that took up much of his view, he could make out a few spectators that moved and voices that matched blurry silhouettes of what appeared to be doctors. A familiar sound, of mechanized origin, made him more wary, and then he knew just what made its way to his left side.

"Subject A is conscious at last. Begin your report, Dr. Nable," said a mysterious voice; it lacked emotion.

"Beginning examination and recording..." said the doctor whom Ratchet believed to be his examiner.

The doctor, otherwise known as Dr. Nable, released the lombax's eyelid, started a tape recorder in his lab coat, and then began to part fur in random areas of the subject's body. "Fur is in good condition despite previous electrocution." The gloved hands continued to explore other regions.

"Hey, hey! Watch it, buddy," growled Ratchet, knowing where the hands were heading.

A few chuckles came from the group ahead, but nothing more than moving shadows behind a large, rectangular window.

The lombax had already developed a sense for when Dr. Nable was about to speak again, for the doctor would moisten his lips or expel a small part of his breath. "Everything else seems to be intact. Moving on to medical..."

Ratchet's vision returned to him at last. He quickly checked the room he was being held in, noticing a window was all that separated him from his viewers, and, in his reflection on the glass, he realized he wore nothing. Because of this he groaned and tried to at least cover himself with something. His tail came to mind, but it too had been restrained by a lock between his legs.

"All right, what kind of peep show you got going here, doc? Just so that you know, as soon as I get free, you'll be the first to hear the crackling sound of your skull when my wrench comes down on your head."

"That's what you think, lombax. We're going to make you into a myrmidon. After that, I don't think you'll be banging any one or thing upside the head anymore,"said Dr. Nable, flicking his patient's nose rather hard.

Ratchet flinched. "A my-ma what?"

Dr. Nable answered, "Myrmidon, you striped rat. You'll do everything you're told without question."

"Is that so?"--the lombax laughed uneasily--"In that case, my first order should be to jam my wrench up your a--" a robotic hand muzzled the lombax, suppressing words and his air.

The hand remained there for more than a minute, squeezing harder and harder. It certainly seemed it enjoyed what it was doing. The hand's owner, after watching the lombax flounder a bit, released him, and watched in wonder as the lombax inhaled deeply.

"Grr! Who is that behind me? Show yourself!" Ratchet spat out in indignation, ignoring the syringe that made its way to his chest.

The anonymous thing walked mechanically to the front of the lombax, showing itself at last. The hand belonged to none other than Infernox, the machine he had battled on Kerwan. Rage boiled over the Veldian's face.

He growled the name of his impersonator. "_Infernox_. I should've known. Who made you? I've got something to settle with him, too."

"I can answer that," said a strange voice from outside the examination room. It was neither Solonian nor Bogonian. "I am Doctor Bane."

Ratchet searched for the voice. "And where am I?" he said, using his claws to scratch along his wrist restraints.

Dr. Bane said, "You, my lombax subject, are nowhere. Nowhere to be charted on a map, anyhow. Between the outskirt of Solana and the beginning of Bogon. You see, I am a relative of Dr. Nefarious--the person, not the robot."

"With a name like that, who couldn't help but guess?" came Ratchet's last minute remark.

"I will let you say what you want, because in a few minutes you will be nothing more than a puppet--my puppet. You see, my cousin's idea of the Biobliterator was something short of brilliant. He had the right idea, but the wrong motive. My idea, however, is a bit easier and far less expensive to do, and it does not require anyone turning into metal."

"So what's your brilliant idea, genius? And, oh, by the way...be sure to mention how, in any way, a lombax like me can screw up this plan. I'd appreciate that too."

The voice of Dr. Bane laughed, muffled behind the window. "Very comical, lombax. Here's how I propose to control both Solana and Bogon..."

Ratchet's ears perked up in alarm. "Bogon? What's that galaxy have anything to do with this?"

"Is it not obvious, lombax? Dr. Nefarious used advanced robotic nano technology to transform organisms, or 'fleshy' things, into machines with the use of a devastating weapon. The Biobliterator. It is not a technology that originated in this galaxy, as you call it, Solana. I aim to do something on a greater scale involving only this..." a gloved finger from behind the window pressed a small, circular chip device the size of a miniature bolt to the glass.

"Ooo! You plan on scaring people with a shirt button? Impressive! No, really. I am impressed, but though a little disappointed with the originality of this plan," said Ratchet, laughing after.

The scientist's voice grew impatient. There was a deep, long hiss. "No, no! You idiotic lombax. It is a microchip, the greatest chip ever to be conceived. It is capable of leveling an entire civilization! Think of it as _mind control_."

"Is that what you're going to use on me? That button?"

"_Microchip_, you cantankerous creature."

"Whatever."

The finger disappeared behind the glass, along with the microchip. "Why, of course. You'll be the first to test it out."

The examiner pressed a long needle against the lombax's chest. "Ready for injection, Dr. Bane. Commencing..."

Ratchet's eyes doubled in size at the length of the needle pressed on him. "Whoa, whoa! Hey! What's this? It looks like it'll hurt."

Suddenly, the window from which Dr. Bane and his colleagues were supposedly standing behind and observing the testing area, slid upward like blinds, revealing who they really were.

When the Veldian got a first glimpse of Dr. Bane, he couldn't think of the right words to describe the creature in front of him. Bane wore a druid robe with a velvet, flowing cloak; a hood, and long, cryptic sleeves. His body was completely obscured from sight by his bizarre apparel; but only a pair of the reddest eyes the lombax had ever seen. With the rest of the doctor's masculine stature hidden behind his gown, the lombax could nevertheless see that the doctor appeared tall. More immediate was the way he spoke. The cabalistic nature of the doctor was something he needed to figure out.

"Inject this rodent. Then prep him for his trip. Bogon misses him," said Dr. Bane, leaving the back room with haste. The window that slid open began to close again. The shadows of Dr. Bane's colleagues, however, remained where they were.

Ratchet yelped as the tip of the needle broke his pelt and a terrible pain pulsed across his upper body. He could feel the contents of the syringe being injected into him, spreading around and causing more soreness. As he closed his eyes and gnashed, his body beginning to struggle again, Infernox reached out and held him down with a cold hand. The machine was more powerful than the lombax had come to expect, because nearly all of his movements were brought to an end in an instant.

"Argg!" he cried, feeling pitiful and weak.

Dr. Nable removed the needle. Infernox gradually let up on the lombax's chest, watching how the furry becoming calm after a few moments.

Ratchet felt heavier; he felt queasy and hot. For a moment, he swore he could hear his heart beating rapidly, and the sounds of the fluid being pushed through his veins, coursing through like vemon, burning him from the inside. Then a small surgical drill scared him as it slowly and carefully made its way toward his left side.

"Now be absolutely still, lombax, unless you want to become a vegetable for the rest of your life. You'll feel a moment of discomfort, but then nothing else," Nable said, motioning the drill closer. "Infernox, steady the lombax's head."

The machine walked to the back of the lombax, reached out, and cupped his head on both sides, keeping his head centered. The drill edged closer to the left temple. Once the tip of the drill touched the surface of the lombax's head, he tightened his eyes and gave a weak growl. Tiny bits of bone chipped from the hole being made.

The surgical procedure ended quickly and safely with the microchip embedded into the skull of the lombax, near the brain, and after a few minutes the doctor began patching up the side of the subject's head. Testing to see if the device worked, Nable went over to a computer terminal and entered some commands that sent direct microwave pulses to the chip, which activated the chip and stimulated a specific, neurological part of the lombax's brain. Things seemed to be in order when the subject responded physically.

All of Ratchet's previous displeasure left him. He lost awareness of his surroundings, the people around him, and among other things his emotions. His face became completely emotionless. Infernox released him, coming around to the front of the hero and tilting its head. The machine's learning processor couldn't make much out of the new lombax. He was unable to read the lombax's body language.

"Good, good! The chip is working and there's no damage to the Veldin's brain. Now we can reap all of his years of combat experience and mold him into the perfect soldier. Let's prep him with prime directives."

"_Dr. Nable. What...are...my...prime...directives?_"

"Infernox, you've already finished yours. To make yourself useful, I'll tell you what you must do next. Go activate _Infernox (v.2)_. Bring him to me and I'll do the rest."

The machine did as he was told, turned around, and walked out of the operating room. Nable typed busily at a computer, entering in the last commands for Ratchet's chip and ordering him to repeat what was typed into the terminal. He then released the lombax from his trammels, helped him into a stance, and then pulled a lab coat over him.

"Ratchet, what is your mission?" he asked the lombax.

Ratchet reopened his eyes and stared straight ahead. His ears were perked with the tips bent slightly forward; his tail remained curled in one direction and never swayed. He stood stern like a soldier, breathing very light.

In a voice, low and devoid of emotion, "To cause war," he answered.

Dr. Bane breathed out. "Whose war?"

"Solana and Bogon's," came another answer.

"Ratchet, how will you achieve your objectives?"

The lombax continued to look straight without blinking, almost catatonic. "By terminating whatever that gets in my way."

Dr. Bane began smiling, "List your objectives, beginning with Bogon, and then Solana."

"Bogon: Thugs-4-Less; The Manhunters; Abercrombie Fizzwidget. Solana: Galactic Rangers; the Q-Force; Secret Agent Clank; Galactic President," Ratchet said as a tear slid slowly down his right eye. In the mind of the lombax, somewhere, he was still there, fighting back. Dr. Bane saw the tear and wiped it away with his thumb.

"Very good. Now let's get you geared up," said Dr. Nable, showing his newest experiment to the door. "Finally, a successful, superable soldier. Taking over galaxies will be too easy."

A new kind of lombax stood sullen and still in the hangar of an unknown starport located in the Red Star Nebula. Masked, staring off into the red nebula was a warrior dressed from head to toe in an Infernox commando suit similar to Inferno's. His abductor's had paid meticulous attention to his commando armor, having added a built-in thruster-pak; including modified armor, a version more resilient, and beyond its time in the Solana galaxy, not only covered the lombax's body fully but his ears and tail with protective plates. His armor was especially designed with versatility in mind. They had also taken the liberty of equipping their myrmidon with the latest weapons and gadgets, items borrowed from Solana and Bogon with some some extra features. The scientists took every precaution to prepare their expendable fighter for war; and now was the time to unleash him onto their enemies.


	8. C8: Revelations

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Eight

"Revelations"

**13:46 - Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ, Bogon Galaxy**

The thug elite henchman finally awoke to the sound of footholds gathering outside the door of the medical room. The room was quiet and a little chilly, his body reminded him, as he became aware on an operating table. It had only been a few moments before he fell asleep previously, ignoring the pangs that burst around his upper torso--he was tired. He had long removed his combat armor when he arrived back at base, but he always kept his powerful weapon nearby, which began a habit. The well-known Thrasher Cannon lied on the floor against the examination table awaiting future use. He positioned into a more comfortable position, his lithe chest lined up with muscular ripples.

The door of the room suddenly slid open with a mechanical hiss, and inside stepped the femme warrior he recognized as being his new partner. It was Dark Angel. Still in her battle suit, she stepped inside and made her way alongside him, stealing a glimpse of his weapon on the floor. Reaching for her helmet, she removed and held it down at her side. Her eyes roamed from him to a small, silver tray beside him, with surgical devices strewn neatly on top.

When he looked into her eyes, a small, sheepish smile began to spread across his face, accompanied by a top row of tainted fangs. Seeing this, she poked his chest at a particularly sore spot, and giggled when he groaned. He placed a hand over his naked chest, running his claws across his scales.

"So what's _that_ look for?" she said with a hint of playfulness in her eyes.

"You knowz, at first, I thought you weren't tooz special until we gotz out there on the field. You proved me wrong. I wuz wrong for doubting your abilities."

Angela smiled warmly. "Well, appearances aren't everything."

"Heh," he grinned, trying to sit upright a little more. "I standz corrected."

He looked over his injured chest, and then at his armor that he had cast aside on another table across the room. Angela followed his gaze. She walked over to the smaller table, picked up his chest armor, and studied how much damage it had sustained. The armor plating was charred in the front, a bit fractured in some places with jagged holes, and gave off an acrid smell that she believed to be metal and flesh combined. It was no wonder why he had burn marks on his chest--wounds that looked like they would never fully disappear.

She turned around, held the chest plate high, and peeked through one of the many orifices made into it. "Stravek? How is your chest? Think you will be able to go on the next mission?" She gave a concerned stare, lowering his armor and returning it to the side table.

"I would be lying if I sayz it didn't hurt whenever I moved. That hangar I wuz hiding behind, when it exploded, I felt bits of shrapnel penetrate my armor. I knowz I didn't act too hurt by it at first, because I didn't think it wuz bad, but that'z just because I had a lady on my side...for a change." The thug turned away to conceal another smile. It was unacceptable, according to thug protocol, for a soldier to smile at any female because fraternizing was just one of the many, prohibiting laws added to the new regime.

"Aw, you're such a _big_, _brave_ lizard," she teased. "Well, whatever medical staff you have here, they'll be here in any minute. So we won't have too much time for chat. By the way, what do the doctors use here, anyway?"

Stravek returned a glance, looking first at the surgical instruments on the tray beside him, then at her, before saying, "Ancient and new--the newest being nanotechnology. Thatz always seem to work really fast."

"Uh huh," she said, turning around as two others stepped into the examination room.

"Stravek...how are yar?" was the hoarse voice of Vukar.

It seemed wherever the Barlowian traveled, his Jobian cousin followed too.

Jak came and stood on the opposite side of Angela, examining the wounds of his teammate. "Rarr, git up! Yer tougher than this, Snivelakian."

Angela nodded to each tribesman that looked her way. "Vukar. Jak."

She noted that Vukar was still dressed as before when she had been introduced to him: he wore very little armor and battle gear, and always carried his machete, which looked like a fearsome blade. It remained in its long scabbard on his back. Another thing she noticed was how similar he was to Jak, both sharing distinct qualities that differentiated them from the rest of the thug army; long, slender necks, limbs, and two long, protruding fangs from their upper lip. They had irises that glowed either a fierce purple or yellow, and they sometimes wore a set of goggles on their heads, a trademark of a warrior who originated from someplace arid or forested. When she turned to look at Jak, he was a different story.

Jak was _always_ in full body armor. A ruby-painted chest plate covered his front and back, fastened to the back of his drooping shoulders. Shielding his face was a red mask that matched the reptilian contours of his head. About the only other thing that was not protected on his body had to have been his legs, where he wore heavy, brown, furrowed pants which complemented his black boots. And attached around his waist was his side pack with only who knows what stored inside them. Down at his side, she finally realized, as he turned around to pick up Stravek's armor, that he carried a strange blaster hooked on the side of his belt. The blaster looked small enough to be used as a clubbing weapon as well and powerful enough to pack a mean punch. She began to wonder about the side firearm.

When the Jobian turned around, seeing her new interest in him, she quickly averted her eyes, pretending to be concerned for Stravek.

Vukar helped his friend to rise up fully on the table.

Stravek began to speak. "I will be fine once the doctor getz here," he said grimly. "What is being done about that robot, that...uh...XL-17? Have wez learned anything from it?"

Jak simply dropped the armor chest plate that belonged to Stravek with a loud clank. "Thar are some things Sandz needs to go ovar. But...I thank we can git some coordinate from it. Isn't that rite, Vukar?"

"Yes," said Vukar.

All eyes turned to the door as a thug doctor stepped into the room. Ironically, the doctor looked nothing of the sort, but wearing the white uniform supported his title. For all Angela knew, he looked just like another thug on the streets. She found this comical, musing in silence of the _awful_ things that were probably going to happen to Stravek in order to repair his body. An uncontrollable smile formed--she had to see this for herself!

The doctor made his way over to the patient, appreciating the space the two tribesmen made for him out of respect. While he touched in various places on the injured Manhunter's chest, making inquiries of the extent of pain, the elite thug looked past the doctor and beckoned for the two tribesman to do something for him. As if by instinct, they headed over to Angela, blocking her view of Stravek and the doctor.

"Stravek wishes far you not to see him like this. Go to Sandz and give the troopar a hand with the ro-bot. And latar, we will all re-group in the con-ference room," said Jak, encouraging her with a light push.

"All right. See you three soon," she said, turning around to walk out of the room.

One of the last things she heard before the door closed behind her came from the doctor. "Restrain him, boyz."

It took a little time to find the exact location of Sandz, because she was unfamiliar with the corridors of the Manhunters' department. They seemed more or less to be a labyrinth and she hadn't been formally given a tour of the place yet. Despite being lost for a short while, she did manage to find her way back to Griff's office and the briefing room where she originally met the bounty hunters. Looking for labels, appearing posted every so often on walls, she finally stumbled into the research area. Within a few minutes, she stood at the threshold of the laboratory, looking over the room for the trooper.

The sound of frustration and anger directed her attention to a far corner of the lab, beyond the lab accessories and expensive-looking equipment, so she stepped inside and called out the trooper's name.

"Sandz? Sandz? Where are you?" called Angela.

The trooper's voice rang out from somewhere beneath the work tables.

"Over here, Dark. I'm having a bit of trouble. I could use a hand with the process of extracting this stupid machine's computer chip."

She found the trooper kneeled down, having separated a few parts of the machine, or what was left of the XL-17 bot. The trooper had an array of tools, electrical equipment, and bolts in a neat arrangement. He leaned forward, with a tiny screwdriver in hand, bit his lip and tried to loosen a chip that had been nearly extricated at the back of the robot's head.

While grinning, "So...now you're a tech specialist?" Angela said.

Sandz soughed heavily. "Not exactly, but I've had a little experience at these things. Come, help me here. I need you to press down here and here,"--he directed--"to unlatch this stubborn microprocessor chip."

Angela placed her helmet down on a table to her left, came closer, and positioned her body in a way similar to his, trying to get comfortable with her armor that added extra pressure on her legs. Throwing her ponytail back, she edged closer to the robot, the thoughts of it trying to blow her up previously resurfaced. Gnawing on her nether lip, she placed her fingers in the places where Sandz had asked her to around the chip.

"Good, good. Now...just let me...loosen a couple of these ridiculously tight screws, and we'll be in business. Then I can run this chip down to the 'real' tech experts, and they'll provide us with the information we need about the thief and reprogram this unit to serve us. I'm sure Vukar would appreciate a gunner aboard his ship, don't you think?"

Angela nodded, noticing the Blargian sweating around his strangely shaped forehead and temples. For the first time, she realized he had such thick and bushy eyebrows. What little hair he had had been greased and combed back to sleek perfection. His alien features fascinated her. She continued to look him over, trying not to be too obvious as she had been with Jak.

They shared an uncomfortable silence between them--Bogonian and Solanian. She decided to begin with a simple question to ease the awkwardness between them.

"So...? You're from Solana, right? What's it like there?"

Not taking his attention off of what he was doing, Sandz spoke quickly and distinctly. "Every time someone asks me that around here, I tell them the two galaxies are not so very different, but are really alike. I know I've only been in Bogon for a little over a year and half, but I don't feel any different than being back in Solana. Solana is just as busy with life as this galaxy. Maybe more so. Home is where the heart is, right?"

"Busier? Why? What happened?"

"Some time ago, my former employer, Supreme Executive Chairman Drek, from the planet Orxon, took it upon himself to rebuild our home world. His idea seemed ingenious and sadistic, but we were in need of a new planet after having polluting it to the point where we weren't able to live there anymore. For years, we had poured chemical wastes into our waters, which turned our once beautiful sky into a sickly green smog. You couldn't breathe it without incinerating your lungs. That's why we wore these helmets. As a solution, Drek thought of a way to make the Blarg, that's my kind, rich and at the same time have a new home, but the process required desperate measures that would affect the other inhabitants of the galaxy."

One of her fingers slipped off the computer chip. "Desperate measures?"

"Yes, very desperate measures. The general idea was to construct a new planet using the best parts of other planets. Ironic, isn't it? Drek promised the inhabitants of other planets some form of reparation, but...he was going to _make_ them buy space on the newly constructed planet. That was how he proposed his plan. He damaged so much of the other planets, I believe that even now Solana is without the scars--they're still rebuilding and repopulating the planets."

Angela's face grew tense. "This Drek sounds like a horrible person--robbing people of their planets."

"As for the rest of the story--"--he popped out a screw, catching it into his gloved hand--"there was the tale of a lombax from a backwater planet of the galaxy that put an end to the chairman's scheme. I believe you've heard of him."

"Yes, the famous Ratchet. He who saved our galaxy from imminent danger as well," said Angela as an old feeling of bitterness returned to her.

"Yup. You know what I find funny about him..." he stopped what he was doing and looked at her. "As small as the guy is, he took on our _entire_ army of machines and men. A guy like that is not only a hero, but a very dangerous person, too. Don't you think?" Sandz returned to his work, removing another screw. "Can you imagine how many people--of mine--that he had probably killed? There's always two sides of the story."

The notion piqued her, her other hand curling into a fist. With a glance, the trooper could tell he had struck one of her nerves.

"Maybe that is so, but he's done more good than bad," she retorted, resting her other arm on her knee. "Besides, I _like_ the things he's done, not only for his galaxy but for ours as well."

Sandz finally removed the last screw that held the chip in place. He removed the chip, stood up, and examined it. Angela followed suit and looked over the floor that was more of a mess than a job well done.

"Well, you may like him for the things he's done, I **_don't_**. Because of him, the Blarg are now scattered across Solana. I wouldn't be surprised to find another one of my kind here, somewhere." He placed the chip into a pocket of his body suit.

Cross folded her arms. "Well, I won't argue for the lombax. He's fully capable of that himself. But I suppose we agree to disagree?"

"I can live with that. Now if you will excuse me, I must deliver this microchip."

"Before you go, I have just one more question..."

"Yes?"

Placing her hand on her hip, "What's your reason for coming to Bogon?"

Sandz expression changed to one of seriousness. His eyes remained strong, but his body language, positioned in such a way to show indifference, hinted at something else. He rued the day Ratchet ended the Blarg conquest.

His voice became deep. "I couldn't show my face after what happened to Drek. I'd decided a long time ago to live with my shame elsewhere, where people wouldn't judge me for my wrongdoing," and with that said, he turned around sharply and marched toward the exit.

Angela watched the trooper leave, and then turned back to study what was left of the machine. Upon closer examination, among the many leftover parts--gears, bolts, fragments--the alloy the chassis had been made of made her wonder. She picked up a piece of scrap armor and brought it into the light, looking for a sign of its origin. A few seconds later, tapping the scrap onto the rectangular table in front of her, it dawned on her--Raritanium.

"Raritanium," she lisped.

Suddenly, the microphone built into the ceiling startled her with a feminine voice. She fell back on her rump, looking up at the intercom speaker from above. It announced an important message.

"All Manhunters, please report to the conference room."

In her gloved hand, she still gripped the alloy. Rising, she released the scrap, reached for her helmet, and made her way toward the exit, feeling she was probably going to be late for her second meeting.

"I'm gonna be late if I don't hurry," she worried, beginning off into a quick gait down the halls.

In the conference room, Vukar looked up as Jak entered, twirling his firearm. Seeing his comrade, he walked over and slapped the other's shoulder in a friendly gesture. Minutes later, Angela rushed into the room, and almost tripping over her feet. At this, the two tribesmen broke into laughter, pointing sword or gun at her.

"Har har, guys," she said, making her way round a structure and descending a flight of stairs.

Their watchful eyes followed her as she went a floor below them, obviously making her way toward a cough that looked comfortable. She plopped down on it and sat back as far as she could, but her long legs kept her boots upright on the floor. Tilting her head back a bit, she closed her eyes and released her helmet on the cushion beside her. She felt sleepy. The realization made her think about how many hours she had traveled to and fro, and her discovery amazed her, making her groan. She hadn't slept for more than a day because she was always on her feet. She was beginning to believe that the Manhunters _never_ slept.

Her head dipped, repeatedly, each time she almost succumbed to sleepiness. Although she was feeling tired, she continued to eavesdrop on the conversation between the tribesmen from above. When a new voice entered the room, she forced her eyes open, recognizing the voice of Stravek. She ignored the idle chatter of the tribesmen and followed the sound of his position in the room. He sounded as if his injuries were still preventing him from walking at ease by the way he dragged his boots across the floor.

Stravek saluted his friends, turned to lean over a railing, and called out to the sleep-deprived Dark Angel.

"Dark? Dark Angel?" he said softly. "Feeling sleepy, huh? I gotz something that may helpz you with that. Here, eat thiz."

Something small and bar shaped landed on her lap. Her eyes tiredly motion to look down. She picked up the candy bar, reading its label.

She turned her head to glance upward. "Nanobar? What's this do?"

Stravek folded his arms and leaned on them on the railing of the top floor. He was no longer in his usual armor, but a long bandage had been wrapped around his chest several times. A dog tag dangled from his neck. It was something new she hadn't seen before.

"It'z a Nanobar. Eat it. It makes youz feel better. Assuming youz have to go back out on another mission and soonz."

"Gee, thanks," she gave a weak smile.

Angela unwrapped the bar and took a small bite out of it, enjoying the sweet, caramel taste of it as she chewed.

_Mm, it is so good_, she thought to herself, hoping it would be just the thing to wake her. She lowered her head back, continued to chew, and closed her eyes again as if to go back to sleep, but the oversized vidscreen in front of her clicked on. Reopening her eyes, slowly, a new face greeted hers. A pair of young, gold, feminine eyes stared back at hers, making her feel uneasy. Perhaps this was the new Thug Leader? Or the leader of the group?

"Manhunters, get into formation," ordered the woman, her domineering voice pouring out of every speaker within the room.

The female thug, surprisingly furry, striped and catlike, with a darker complexion than that of her own, looked around the room as the bounty hunters from the top level carried out her order in obedience.

Stravek, Vukar, and Jak descended the stairs which led down to the first floor of the conference room, where Angela reclined on a couch. Jak and Stravek joined her on the couch, sitting upright and saluting their leader. Vukar stood off to the side of the others, positioning most of his weight on one foot. In his clawed hand, he played with machete, twirling it fast on one of his fingertips.

Stravek leaned over and whispered into her ear, "That'z the captain."

Angela forced a smile behind clenched teeth. "I can _see_ that," she said. "_And she is...attractive._" She chewed the rest of her nanobar with a little hint of jealousy on her face.

"Excellent work on your first mission, Manhunters. I'm proud of all of you," the captain's voice became gentle and affirmative; there was something about it that demanded attention. "But our work isn't over just yet."

"What's our next mission?" said Vukar, loudly sheathing his large blade back into its scabbard on his back.

"Reconnaissance. From what our Leader theorized, he believes the thief's next target may be on Planet Siberius, at a frozen munition factory. The factory spans several acres atop a mountainous region, with only one road that winds around the mountain trail, and it's safe to presume that the factory is lightly guarded by sentinels. Let's look at a satellite map of the region."

A satellite image of the planet Siberius replaced the captain's; an image that was highly detailed and realistic down the atmospheric conditions of the planet, charting the continents and bodies of water. A small, rectangular box appeared on screen, beeping and increasing the magnification of the planet several times until a live image came up and showed the area that housed the factory. Another box appeared, selecting the factory, reconstructing the pixel image until the front court of the factory could be seen clearly from overhead.

The captain continued, "As you can see, the facility is guarded by four watchtowers, but don't be alarmed--it's been awhile since Megacorp stationed their guards in them. Despite this, team, you could use them to your advantage. Now going back to the grounds of the facility, you'll see that everything is practically covered in snow, but that's not enough to stop us, is it?"

"Nah," said Vukar. "No snow, rain, or storm can keep us from going thar."

Another image showed the main gates of the compound. Then the captain's voice returned, "Good," she said with great satisfaction. "Here is the entrance. We won't be going through it, let alone near it--and neither will the thief. However, whoever gets beyond these doors will be welcomed to an expansive courtyard full of transport containers, of variable sizes, making this particular area a playground. You'll have to keep a close eye from the watchtower to spot anything that moves down there. I recommend that the team maintain radio silence unless it's absolutely necessary. You may give away your position should a robotic guard be on patrol. Furthermore, if you look closely you'll see tiny specs on the surface of the snow. Know what those are? Anyone?"

Jak grinned and his eyes glowed. "Seismic charges. I feelz sorry for the personz that tripz those."

"Very good. Those charges are nasty mines. Triggered by a motion sensor, they'll pop up from the ground, explode, and send off a ring of electricity that's enough to incapacitate a person. Hit too many of these and it's over."

A third image panned past the courtyard and directly onto another building in the middle of the compound. Small squares flickered on the screen, pointing out things of interest. The bounty hunters heard a short sigh from the captain.

"I'm afraid there's more bad news... You'll have to be a ghost to get past these security defenses, consisting of multiple cameras, sirens, and automated turrets, all of which are tied directly to a security console on the far east wall. Beyond these defenses lies the middle factory, where government weapons and ammunition are--were--being manufactured."

A final image panned past the middle factory to the last part of the compound. Here, it looked much like the place where shipment came and left the factory. Moments after, the opened images minimized, returning to the image of the captain.

"And last, the back part of the factory is the depot, where the weapons and ammunition are individually shipped off. Thankfully, this is in our favor, because Megacorp has closed this place down for over three years now--using it as a repository. The only things to watch out for here are the huge weapon crates left behind. With enough damage, these crates are likely to explode in your face, so try not to damage them too much. Better yet, _avoid_ them if you can. And one more thing, it's possible that the thief may enter either at this point, behind the factory, or in the courtyard. That is why you will need one additional Manhunter stationed in a tower in the back. Any volunteers?"

"Captain, you knowz I would be the first to be a part of the action, but because of my injuriez, I'm unable to carry out thiz mission," announced Stravek, holding his side with an arm. "But I knowz another member will be able to take over for me."

"Very well, Jak, you'll take the place of Stravek. We could use a sniper in one of the towers. Vukar? Would you care to take the ground?"

Vukar shook his head. "No, no. Vukar is better in the air, so he will take the bak tower."

"Very well," agreed the captain, looking over the available bounty hunters. "This operation is based on stealth, so there's no need to blow your cover by trying to get into the factory. We're there to observe, not complicate things. Should the thief makes his appearance, only then will you move in for the capture. That goes double for you, Jak. We need the thief _alive_."

Disappointment showed on the Jobian's face. "Aw!"

The captain's eyes fell back on Angela. "And I believe we have a new recruit among us. I haven't been introduced to you, newcomer, what is your name?"

Angela looked to her sides, at Jak and then at Stravek, before answering. "I go by Angel. Dark Angel."

"I bet you do," the captain chuckled. "Dark Angel, is it? Well Dark, I'd welcome you to the team, but you haven't been officially initiated into the group--a little thing we thugs like do to prove our worth."

Angela raised an eyebrow at this news, a sudden uneasiness creeping up her back and making her fur perk up. She turned to Stravek for an answer, but she only received a broad smile. She turned to Jak, but he, too, feigned innocence. All of them kept something from her. As for Vukar, the pilot completely avoided her gaze, looking straight ahead at the captain.

"Don't worry, it's just a little test of skill," said the captain. "Vukar, since you're already on your feet, please be so kind as to escort Dark to the CQC room. As for the rest of you, get some rest. Dust off at 2000."

"Vukar will," he said, gesturing for Dark to rise at once. "Come, little lady."

The transmission on the holovid flickered off-line. The males in the room turned to look at Dark, the next person who would have to go through what they all had to go through at some point in time. An eerie silence hung in the air, the only sounds being the footsteps of the two climbing the stairs. Angela felt like a child being led away from her new family--and it filled her with nervousness. Before she followed Vukar out of the room, she stopped, turned to clutch the same railing Stravek had done before, and called out to him.

"What's CQC?"

Vukar waited by the door, looking over his shoulder and showing impatience.

Stravek grinned. "You'll see."

Angela turned away, going over to Vukar, who placed a hand on her shoulder and gently pulled her out the door. Several minutes down the halls she realized that she had left her helmet behind, but judging by her teammate's face, he wasn't about to turn back now, so they carried on.


	9. C9: Captain Natasha

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Nine

"Captain Natasha"

**14:01 - Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ, Bogon Galaxy**

In the CQC room, the Manhunter captain--just one of a many reverent leaders of the thug army on Snivelak--was finishing the buttoning of her combat jumpsuit by the time Vukar and Angela entered. No longer dressed in her everyday uniform of black, an attire which would normally been seen during briefing, and accompanied by a matching, short-brimmed cap, she now looked like a casual soldier, like one of them--only prettier. In person, Angela got a good look of who led the uncanny group of elite soldiers.

It was true, the captain was attractive--for a thug--as she had seen during briefing, but she was also very different than her. Short, raven hair. Aureate eyes. In height, Cross easily dominated this category by a few inches. They seemed equal in girth, but they differed in fur tone, with hers being the lightest as opposed to the captain's dark brown complexion; in the pattern of stripes, for the captain's were black and ran diagonally over her arms, legs, shoulders and the length of her tail; and species. Another thing the two women shared in common were fingers--five to be exact. Their biggest difference, however, was that the captain, whatever her animal ethnicity may be, she had a long, thin tail tipped with a pendant-shaped patch of fur. And after absorbing all there was to be seen of this woman, and if she didn't know any better, she presumed this other woman _was_ a lombax.

With a slight push from behind, Vukar encouraged the nervous geneticist to go to the captain. After seeing that she was making a little progress, he turned to leave, closing the door to the simulation room behind him.

The sound of the door closing her in alarmed her, making her comfort zone smaller with every step toward the new stranger. She looked around the room, taking in her surroundings to get an idea of what she might have to do to prove herself worthy as part of her _initiation _into the team.

The training room was stark in comparison to the other rooms she had been inside. All four walls of the small room were painted white. The light arrangement, fixed into the ceiling as nothing more than small orbs, made it difficult to see at first, being so vivid and reflecting off all the whiteness. The only other object in the room that marred from the overall illusion of emptiness was the captain, who had her back to her.

The captain was pulling on some small and black, fingerless gloves by the time she stood behind her. Angela could hear the tightening of the gloves as the captain curled her hands into fists, repeatedly, flexing her fingers as if to make sure they were on just right. Slowly, curiously, the captain looked over her shoulder, turning around to see her new recruit.

With a pert smile, "Ah, Dark Angel. Welcome to the CQC (Close-Quarters-Combat) room. This is where the Manhunters go to train, practice new weaponry, and combat one another to hone in on their skills as fighters. And today, I'll be your contender," she chortled a moment, holding her chest with a hand. "Excuse me, I meant to say 'trainer.' That's not a problem, is it?" she asked while giving a suggestive look, one marked by the avidity to fight.

Angela returned a dubious look. "Um...sure? I, um--what do I need?"

Giving a knavish look, the captain said plainly, "Just your hands and feet, hon. By the way, what's your real name, if you don't mind me asking? My name is Natasha."

"My real name is...Angela Cross. It's a pleasure to meet you, Natasha."

Angela offered a hand shake, which Natasha promptly gripped, tightly, shaking very unladylike.

"No, no. The pleasure is all mine, Angela," said Natasha, releasing the recruit's hand. "You know, there's something special about you that I can't quite put my finger on, but I feel like I already know you. Tell me, where are you from?"

"I'm from Grelbin, currently living in the Tundor Wastes. And you?" said Angela, returning her hand to her side and feeling how it throbbed with pain.

"I'm willing to bet you work for Megacorp, but then again everyone else these days seems to be an employee, yeah? As for me, I'm from K'taline City on the planet Rumar. It's nothing special, nothing but a small planet near the outskirts of Bogon. Just isolated and alone in a back region of the galaxy."

Angela blinked, having never heard of such a place. "Don't take this the wrong way, or anything like that...," she put up her hands, "...what species are you? You resemble a lombax friend of mine from a little while back."

Natasha started laughing, holding her waist with both hands. "I assure you, I'm no lombax. But I'm definitely a _shabox_. Think of it as being distant cousins of the lombaxes."

"A shabox, huh? Sounds...uh...neat. I bet there is bound to be a scientific discovery!" Angela joked, being the first to laugh at her own dry humor.

"Oh, you better stop there, you're too flattering,"--curling her tail merrily--"Anyway, let's put the formalities aside and get down to the matter at hand--you and the Manhunters."

Angela straightened her pose. "Right."

Natasha stepped closer, came in front of her new recruit, and began a slow pace around her, checking her out while addressing the ways of the Thugs-4-Less Army.

"Normally, for anyone to be a part of the Thug-4-Less regime, let alone the Manhunters, one must go through nine weeks of intense training--that's how long it takes to mold you into a tough person, to have something crack you, rebuild you, train you, and make you feel like you're a part of something larger than life itself. But with you, however, there can be this one exception because some important business has come to my attention about a thief and the Megacorp corporation. I've heard of your alias before when I watched the Megacorp Games--as you already know, it's a tremendous, favorite pastime in our galaxy."

"So what do you think? Do I have what it takes to be a part of this--regime?"

"I saw your combat skills; they were something short of miraculous for someone who has never competed in a tournament before. Am I right?"

Angela turned her head to follow Natasha. "That's just about right."

"And do you have any...previous...military experience?"

"N-n-nooo, I don't."

"I see. If you are as good as you were at the arena, surely you can do it again, effortlessly?"

"I'll try."

Natasha came closer; whispered into the recruit's left ear. "Don't try. Just--_do it_."

"All right, what shall I do first?" she asked.

"First, I will test your speed, and then your reflexes. If you can managed to hit me just once, then you pass. But if you fail to land too many attacks, there will be consequences. Impress me and I, and the others, will train you as one of ours. When you feel ready, I want you to hit me as hard as you can--right here," Natasha ordered, pointing in between her eyes. "By the time you're able to hit me square in the face, that'll be the day you're ready to take on bigger challenges that lie ahead."

Natasha positioned to stand in front of Cross in readiness. Standing ready, in a little battle pose, her short, thin tail swayed anxiously. She studied the way Angela positioned herself into her own amateur fighting style, studying how she prepared to draw back a fist and usher the first blow.

When the fist came, Natasha leaned in forward, tilted to the side, and allowed the fist to pass. To her, it was as if the fist came in slow motion. An experienced fighter, she had learned to anticipate attacks and read the body language that came with them.

Angela looked surprised to have missed the captain's face, but she half-expected something like this to happen. After all, the captain wasn't just going to let her face get bruised so easily.

"Try another, different punch, and this time at another part of my body without _telling me_. I stand ready." Natasha returned into a battle stance.

Again, Angela threw another quick punch at the shabox's side, but a gloved hand came and parried the blow. She tried again, and again, and again to hit the captain in different places, but as always the shadow's hands seemed too fast, too skilled, preventing every attack from landing. This affair was proving to be more irksome for her with every attempt to strike, as much as it was a painful realization--a testament of how good she thought she already was, but really wasn't.

Amid her next attack, a block followed, and then a counter--a fist other than her own being buried into the pit of her stomach.

Angela bent forward in response; her suit having guarded against the full force of the blow. And even with her armor on, the fist still had a nice force behind it that made her retreat a couple of steps. The captain's punch accounted for her failure to block effectively. As a warning, Natasha's kind, patient voice told her of this lack of offense thereof.

"Your offense could use some work. How about defense, Cross?"

Without any fair warning, one of Natasha's boots came up and attempted to knock the geneticist back. Moving aside, she managed to avoid it, but another surprise greeted her face. The shabox's fist made her lose balance in those lost seconds after being struck that she fell backwards, and flipped. She became dizzy after that, the side of her face burned with redness.

"Your defense needs considerable work!" exclaimed Natasha, stepping back a few feet to give the self-proclaimed "Dark Angel" some space. "Again."

Angela climbed to her feet and gathered her composure, inhaling and exhaling, repositioning herself back into a fighting stance. Natasha attacked again, with a prowess unmatched by any other person she had ever fought, and this time attacked only with her legs.

The shabox lifted up on one leg and performed a quick roundhouse kick. Angela dodged the simple kick in hopes of countering before the girl turned around, but she came anew with an opposite kick with her other foot; it came smashing down on the top and back of her head in the opposite direction. Cross met the hard lino floor. Afterward, Natasha walked around her again with eyes like a predator.

The captain taunted her; every word pronounced and surly. "Had enough, already? Surely you can do better than that? If that's how you're going to act, _we_ don't want you. Don't need you--a weakling. Maybe you should just give up and go home?"

At that, Angela was back on her feet with a look of rage on her face. Playing off of this emotion, Natasha gave a cocky smile. She dared the taller girl to attack by making childish noises with her small lips. Beyond infuriating, Angela leapt forth in blind fury, throwing a volley of attacks as best she could--some redolent of Ratchet's, or of what she had memory of seeing him perform in battle on television. And followed by her every attack was Natasha's counters, with more simple punches to the face, kicks to the chest, stomach, and legs.

Natasha was practically toying with her.

Angela's frustration and anger died completely when a harsh slap welcomed her, which made her face redder past the fur than before. The test ended there. She couldn't help but feel herself crying inside; her eyes, on the verge of welling. But she needed to look strong in front of this other, older woman.

Angela remained looking away, just as the slap had directed her, lowering her head a little when Natasha spoke again. "We must stop here. This has gone on long enough. Even though you've failed this initiation, I still want to make you into a Manhunter. You're in need of **much** training--training that comes with the help of your fellow hunters and battlefield experience. I just know, if you give it some time, that we'll shape you into a commando yet. That, I promise you. For now, you look tired, go get some rest in the lounge while I prepare your papers and assign you your quarters. I'll send Vukar for you when I've completed my tasks."

Everything said and done, Natasha walked away as if nothing had happened at all. Angela's eyes followed the shabox as she left the room without looking back. Many things roamed in her mind, but the last thing she thought about was hating to lose at the hands of a _thug_. The only optimistic, self-reassuring thought she had was that she was glad the others hadn't been around to see her defeat--no, beating. If they had, it would have been the most horrible, mortifying experience in her life. Were the others going to train her just as viciously as their captain? That was a thought she refused to listen to.

Once she gathered herself, putting an end to all of her silent weeping, she did as she was told, and headed for the lounge, a place she would have to find on her own.


	10. C10: Jak's New Interest

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Ten

"Jak's New Interest"

**14:31 - Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ, Bogon Galaxy**

Half an hour later, as Natasha had promised, Vukar stepped into the lounge area where guests--or _hopefuls_--would normally reside during the waiting period of processing. Tucked beneath one of his arms was the girl's forgotten helmet and with the other he gripped forms, paperwork the captain had prepared. He found the weary Maktar champion at a table with her head down, her face buried hidden in the middle of her folded arms. Her body leaned haphazardly to one side of the lounge chair, suggesting that she was probably asleep, too, so he approached at a quieter stride. He stopped beside her, and with the forms he tapped her shoulder to rouse her.

"Dark. Dark? Hey, yar asleep?" he said, nudging her until her head rose a few inches from her arms.

He cocked an eyebrow when he saw a thin tendril of spittle connecting from the tips of her lips to the wooden table surface. Angela stretched her arms and yawned deeply, hearing a few bones in her body crack. She finally wiped her mouth on the back of his gloved hand in a lazy manner, and then felt a little embarrassed about drooling.

Her eyes were a little inflamed. "Huh? Whaa? Is it time already?"

"Vukar will show you yar room. Come," he helped her to her feet, then pressed her a helmet to her chest. "This is yar's, right? Vukar found it in the conference room."

In a groggy voice, "Thanks, Vukar. I'm much obliged."

She rose to her feet with a little numbness in her legs while pushing back the chair behind her with a screech, and followed him once again. While walking down the halls, he would periodically check behind him to make sure she wasn't straggling along. In minutes, they reached her designated quarters. With a special keycard, he quickly dropped it into the reader, and then yanked it out. The card reader chimed, followed by the sound of a lock mechanism being released, and then he pushed the door open. He moved to the side of the doorway and showed her to her new room.

"This is it," he said. "Is thar anything else yar need?"

Angela looked around the room with weary, burning eyes, noticing that there was a small bed, a night stand beside it, a miniature refrigerator off in a corner of the small room; a bathroom across the foot of the bed, and a single closet just before the bathroom, off to the left.

"It doesn't look like it. I just need--" she yawned again, "...some sleep, then I'll be back to normal. Maybe."

Vukar simply nodded. "Oh, befar I forget, here are some papers yur need to fill out. Captain says she will need them back befar dust off."

He stepped inside the room, walked over the night stand, and placed the papers and keycard down. Afterward, he stepped out as swiftly as he had come in, the door closing behind him. Angela used the time to herself to get acquainted with her room.

"Hm, not too shabby. Not like home, but it looks--comfortable."

She tossed her helmet on the bed before picking up the forms on the night stand. She flipped through them, reading what the captain had put down. There were some other questions that needed to be answered on many of them. She searched for a writing utensil, realizing she hadn't one, but nonetheless found one as it fell from in between the pages. Picking up the pen from the floor, she moved to sit down on the bed comfortably and begin filling out the rest of the missing information--about herself.

Midway through the forms, a buzzing sound other than the refrigerator she hadn't paid much attention to before took her mind off the paperwork. She looked across the room, above the refrigerator, and saw a digital clock. In large, lime digits, it was already fifteen hundred--five hours away before the next mission. Using this as just the impetus she needed to quickly finish the forms, her hand scribbled quickly over the papers, then signed her signature at the end. She placed the forms back on top of the night stand, sliding the pen back between the pages.

She collapsed on the bed, beginning to wonder why it had been so quiet all while. Staring off at the ceiling, her eyes motioning over to a small, rectangular window several feet above her, she rose and clutched the window blind that concealed the outside world. For awhile, she believed she would get used to hearing the thug military life, but she couldn't hear a single thing. Just _where_ did the captain assign her?

"Surprise me, Natasha," she whispered, hesitant to lift up the window blind.

Behind the glass was a solid, red brick block.

She began laughing hysterically. "Yup! I just knew it," she lowered the blinds. "Oh well, I better get some sleep. Lights off."

The lights in the room remained on.

"Oh...right, I'm not home, _Angela_," she expelled a long sigh, running a hand down her face.

Then she got up again; looking for the light switch. She found it by the door, but came to realize that sleeping in her Tuferalox armor would be too confined, unnatural. She removed it, piece by piece, placing the items on an empty shelf in the closet. Garbed only in her underclothes, the only clothing she remembered putting on at the last minute back home, she returned to the door and flipped the switch, believing at the last moment that no one would just come _barging_ into her room at night.

In darkness, she made it back onto the bed, laying outstretched and exhausted. By the time her eyes adjusted to the dim light, something else began to bother her.

Green writing, possibly done by an luminescent marker, covered the walls around her, in areas where other soldiers had written their names, their year of service, and other graffiti. She rowed her eyes, turned over, and tried to go to sleep.

"_Thugs_," was one of the last thoughts that came to her as she drifted to sleep.

Angela later awoke to the sound of someone flipping through the paperwork she had filled out hours ago. Startled by the intruder, she quickly turned over and curled her hands into fists. When she saw who it was, she eased and breathed. It was Natasha. She stood at the side of the bed, looking down at her and raising an eye ridge out of curiosity, smiling at the pretense that the taller girl would actually do something. She finally sat down beside her, touching her knee to calm her further.

"So you work for Abercrombie, eh? A geneticist? Sounds _useful_, resourceful. We could use that field of expertise in the lab," Natasha greeted as amiable as she had been before.

Angela rubbed her forehead, staring at the clock across the room. "Do you always sneak up on the others, too, while they're sleeping?"

Without so much as a repentant look, Natasha responded with, "Only for the new recruits. I do it once, or twice, or thrice. So you better to get into a habit of setting your alarm clock. Otherwise, I'll wake you via microphone, and that's just embarrassing."

"I bet," Cross bellowed briefly.

Holding up the completed paperwork, "Thanks for finishing this, I couldn't have done it myself."--standing again--"What have you eaten since your last mission? Anything at all?" said the shabox, flipping the forms in order.

Angela yawned, "Just that uh...Nanobar...Stravek gave me. He claimed it was a stimulant, but I don't think it worked at all. I was still tired after eating it."

"Ah, but it _does_. You'll see when you're off to Siberius. It'll heighten your senses. It's common to see a few soldiers eat such things before a mission. Anyway, prep for take off in twenty, but meet with Jak boy first in the armory. As for your breakfast--it'll be abroad the drop ship. It's a _scrumptious_--surprise," the captain reassured with a wink. Angela didn't like the way she said it.

"Okayy," said Angela, giving a weird look. "What about my space fighter? I had it docked fairly far from the base."

"That was _yours_? Opps! It's probably been impounded. I'll have our people release it should you ever need it."

A little while later, in the weapons storage room, a separate building from the main armory of the thug army, Jak was already pulling down the gun racks. Various Gadgetron and Megacorp weapons were neatly locked into their respective places, according to smallest and weakest to largest and strongest arsenal. This arrangement was a personal preference that Jak established a while ago when he was given the title of weapon specialist. It was his duty to make sure all weapons were in perfect working order before every mission, and nothing less than perfect.

The Jobian lizard looked over his shoulder as Angela entered and greeted her, continuing with his selection of weapon for the upcoming mission. He had trouble deciding on which of the many sniper rifles to use.

"G'marning, Dark," he said, "Did yar rest well?"

He selected a weapon that looked familiar to her.

"Sort of, but Natasha scared me to death this morning by sneaking into my quarters and waking me up," she explained, making her way past a long table cluttered with many different firearms. Then she looked at the weapon that he had selected, watching how he ejected the cartridge from its bottom and pulled back its pin with expertise. She had a feeling that he would take great pleasure in disassembling and discussing any weapon if asked of him. Instead, she remained quiet, watching his hands work. _Such busy hands._

"Rar-rar. She did the same to me. I like the boss. She is so crool."

Angela's ears perked up at the first sign of truth about the captain. "Uh? _Cruel_? Tell me...how did your CQC go?"

At the remembrance of that day, Jak paused amid his weapon check, thinking about the old days of his training.

"Ohh..." he began, "she took me by surprise. I nevar expected her to be so good. Too good...in...everythang. Rar, that first day was awful. I nevar been hit so many times in my life."

The sound of his first day of CQC sounded worse than hers, and for this she felt glad--rueful too--that she had gotten it easier than him.

"Did she ever _slap_ you by any chance?" she asked, looking contrite for asking.

"Oh yar--slapped, punched, kicked, bit--" he was interrupted by the sound of another member of the team entering the room.

"Rarr!" greeted Vukar, slamming a fist against his chest armor.

Jak returned a similar, if not identical, salute. He then turned his attention back to Dark, seeing that she was mildly interested in the weapon in his hands.

"This har is the Vaporizer. It shoots high calibar, explosive rounds, capable of penetrating most armars. When it hits its target, the bullet explodes, creating a small blast radius. I chose this because it has mar favorite scope; and it will keep yar safe from harm as long as it's in my claws."

"Gee, thanks, Jak. I feel safe already!" she grinned.

"Don't mention it. Yar life will be in my claws once we are out thar. Every Manhunter looks out for one another."

Vukar whistled to signal Jak. "Hey? Which of these Gadgetron weapons should Vukar take while guarding his tower?"

Jak eyes searched over the table of weapons and glowed when he picked one out. With a clawed finger, he pointed at one. "That one--the Bomb Glove. Vukar, yar not much of a sharpshootar like me, but at least you can throw bombs at the bastards."

"Easy enough for Vukar, so he will use it!" Vukar shouted, reaching down and checking out the glove before sliding it over his right hand. "Vukar wishes we war to go on more jobs that involve swords."

Jak slapped a clip into his Vaporizer, pulling back the pin and sliding a round into its chamber. "Yes, I know how good yar are with that machete. Don't worry, yar will get the chance to make mince meat of somebody soon."

The Jobian lizard looked down at Dark, admiring her commando suit and, in unison, trying to figure out where her weapons were. He slid a shoulder strap through the slots of his sniper rifle, and then slung it over his shoulder.

His eyes beamed. "Where are yar weapens?" he asked, lowering his long neck in search for them on her body.

Angela brought up an arm and pressed a hidden button at the sleeve of her gloved hand, where a small electronic device attached to the bottom of the forearm of the suit, and at a place where her fingers could easily reach a switch, she pressed it. Suddenly, a blade projectile slid into the palm of her hand. She held up the weapon.

"This is my Star Blade, a projectile weapon that starts off as a blade, but on impact it will burst into deadly stars with five notched edges. And this,"--she pointed to a small metallic hilt clipped into a scabbard on her right thigh--"is my Plasma Sword. It practically cuts through or burns most things. I still need to enhance it, and then it'll be something fierce."

Jak, bemused and bewitched by such advanced technology, couldn't suppress a malevolent smile. He endeavored to reach for something, anything, and snatched the star blade from her.

"This is..._beautiful_," he whispered with a strange hiss. "Wherever did yar get this?"

Angela stepped back in an exaggerated manner, holding her hands up. "_I_ made it, but you can have _that_ one." A short laugh followed.

"Oh, I will. I will study it. Maybe we will sit down together sometime and create something new?" he proposed with a friendly smile, waving the star blade in his hand.

Angela peeked at Vukar, who shrugged in return and went back to fiddling with his bomb glove.

"Uh, sure, I guess. I'm sure two minds together can invent new weapons faster than one can, right?"

"Yes, yes..." he said as a small explosion erupted from the other side of the room.

Jak ignored the smoke and debris that flushed over him and Dark. In response, Dark ran over to see what had happened. Vukar lied on his back, rubbing his head and looking at the bomb glove he thought wouldn't be too useful--until now. She helped him to his feet and dusted off his shoulder.

"Vukar! Are you okay? You must be out of your damn mind to actually _use_ a bomb in this room. What'd you think would happen if you activated one and it just sat in your hand?" she nearly yelled at him, shaking him softly by his shoulders.

Vukar was in hysterics, fearing the weapon on his hand. He burst with insane laughter.

"Vukar had to get rid of it somewhere!"--he motioned to shout at Jak--"Yar right! This weapen is good for Vukar."

Angela slapped her forehead at the silliness.

Abruptly, a new announcement rang through the halls. The voice belonged to Natasha, giving another update. "Manhunters, report to Evac. Your drop ship awaits."

Jak snapped out of his reverie and headed for the door, holding it open for the other two. "C'mon, that's us. Time to bag our thief."

At the massive heliport, a new drop ship welcomed the trio. Piloted by Sandz, he pointed to something new, at the back of the ship; a drone bot that manned a powerful gauss cannon. The others gaped. They continued toward the aircraft. All around them, other members of the thug organization, all differing in squads, observed the privileged bunch, some folding their arms in envy while others were curious as to know where they were going.

Dark climbed aboard, followed by Jak, then Vukar. Inside, she and Jak decided to sit beside each other, while Vukar went into the cockpit of the drop ship. Sandz rose from the pilot's seat and returned it to its rightful owner, and then stepped into the back where he decided to sit down beside the ship's sliding door, adjacent from the robot. He buckled his safety seat.

Dark nodded at the drone. "Sandz? What's _that_ doing on board?"

Sandz laughed, slapping his thigh. "Don't you recognize it, it's XL-17. He's undergone some modification from a spared Extermibot that another team of the army picked up at Damosel some weeks back. He's been reprogrammed to ride shotgun, serving as the ship's gunner. Armed with the gauss cannon, he'll make short work of anything--and I mean _anything_--that dares to attack our only means of transportation back home."

XL-17 sported a black and gray chassis that seemed to glow in the setting sun. His robotic legs were short and small; his feet, big, protected by a chrome of silver plating and strapped down to the floor board; his large, metallic hands looked like he wore a pair of metal gloves; but his head, however, went through a considerable change, and now was shaped like a parabola with small, circular green eyes, and atop his head he had two stubby, protruding antennae with tips that flashed a red light that displayed his mode.

The defense unit remained standing with his hands gripped firmly around the rests of the laser cannon.

With a slight mechanically noisy turn of its head and confirmed, "Affirmative. Defense unit, XL-17, Manhunter drop ship gunner," and then it turned its head back around, looking ahead and followed the movements of personnel shuffling about the heliport.

Vukar's voice suddenly came over the speakers in the back of the ship. "Vukar says put on yar belts, kiddies, shut up, and prepar for dust off. We'ar heading to Siberius."

Dark and Jak clicked in their safety belts as the floor beneath XL-17 began to slide inward, bringing the unit inside the ship. Once it was in fully, Sandz slammed the side door closed, locking it into place with a turn and press of a lever.

"What will you be doing once we reach Siberius?" asked Dark, tapping nosily on her helmet with her fingers.

"Who? Me? I'm just along for the ride," Sandz admitted. "And before I forget, here are your breakfasts."

He reached behind him, into a small compartment, and grabbed a couple of tubes. Tossing them over, Jak caught his in his mouth, while the other fell onto Dark's lap. She picked up the strange looking tube and squeezed it, being certain it was full of paste or something like it. She wondered if the byproduct had a good taste or not, but turning to Jak answered her question.

The Jobian twisted off the cap of his, reared his head back, and squeezed the contents down his throat greedily. It didn't look like he cared to chew it, nor swish it around in his mouth to enjoy the taste--he was just _hungry_. She looked back at Sandz, the trooper encouraging her to give it a try with a nod. All of a sudden, the drop ship vibrated as its engines came to life with a roar, humming deeply.

Dark twisted off the cap of her "breakfast" while looking out the window of the ship, watching how the headquarters, the soldiers outside and around it, as well as the other ships in the air, grew smaller. By the sudden rock that sent her back against the boarding of the ship's seat, she knew they were making their ascent toward space. The ship began to rattle as it forced itself through the atmosphere of Snivelak. During this time, she placed the tube to her lips, and caught a glimpse of Jak from the corner of her eyes, watching her.

"Try it, Dark. It's good," he said.

His hand reached over and gripped the tube for her, squeezing it. "Let me help yar,"--he squeezed the contents into her mouth--onto her face too--"Good, no? Opps!"

Dark made a look of disgust as the fur on her face became a mess with the paste. She turned to the Jobian and punched him in the shoulder as hard as she could while being restrained by her safety belt.

She screamed, "JAKKK!"

The drop ship made it into the dark vacuums of Bogon space, en route to Siberius, but judging by all the shouting going on inside the big ship, one would believe they were, instead, actually going to turn back and drop off a nuisance.


	11. C11: Siberius: A Frozen Stakeout

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Eleven

"Siberius: A Frozen Stakeout"

**04:13 - Planet Siberius, Megacorp Munitions Factory, Bogon Galaxy**

The Manhunters drop ship arrived early next morning on planet Siberius, at a remote Megacorp munitions center which was inconveniently located at the center of a mountainous region besieged by strong gusts of wind, and bitter cold snowfall that adhered to everything with a frosty touch. Their ship's afterburners hummed deeply and left a trail of black that hung in the air for long seconds as if the atmospheric pressure seized it as its own. The pilot Vukar rubbed the fogged canopy window on his right clean and found an inconspicuous landing zone; a precipice, about half a mile from the large factory, to serve as the insertion point. He flipped a switch on his pilot's communicator helmet and warned the others sitting in the back of the ship about a possible landing.

"Evaryone, prepare far landing," he said into the microphone of his headset, then tapped it off and eased back on the ship's control stick. He reduced the thrusters, directing the control stick into a tight turn.

The manhunters at the back of the ship, save for the robotic gunner, reached out to hold onto the rubber grips above their heads, expecting for the typical, harsh landing they had come to expect from the Barlowian's piloting skills. As predicted, the drop ship touched ground, roughish, the sound of its wheels pressing down on the thick snow could be heard, and then the engines powered down--fading into a quiescent thrum. The bounty hunters removed their seat belts, reaching for their weapons and running a secondary check of their equipment, while waiting for the pilot to emerge from the cockpit.

Sandz was the first to say a word regarding the mission, turning and reaching for a small box with his hands in the same compartment as before. He brought over the case to show the others, opening and revealing what was inside it.

"Listen, you two, here are your communicators," he began. "Attach the tiny microphone just outside your outer ear, and then press _this _button just once to activate it."--he directed the box toward Dark and Jak, opened it, and handed each of them an ear piece--"We'll test these out once Vukar comes."

Vukar suddenly came through the drapes of the cockpit area, he too, taking one of the ear pieces and fitting it into his ear as the others had already done. He remained standing, leaning against a wall of the ship, waiting for some explanation from the person in charge of the team's communication.

"All right, does everyone have a mic?" he said, looking around.

"Rarr," came from Jak, motioning his head to Dark.

She acknowledged with a nod, tapping against the side of her helmet where the striped, pointed ear of choice hid the microphone inside. "I'm set."

"Vukar too."

Sandz watched as all three pressed the button on their mics. "All right, then! Here's how things are going to work. I'll monitor all radio chatter from this point on from the drop ship. Like the captain said, only report when you need to, because you don't want to draw an enemy to your position with verbal responses. Understand? Now that everyone has tapped once, this means you've switched to a channel for listening only. If you want to send a message and listen at the same time, tap it again, or twice to return to the first mode."

"Sounds easy enough, so let's try them out," said Dark, standing up and moving toward the side door. She turned and pulled the door's lever, opening it and welcoming the others to a terrible breeze.

"Whoa! That's cold," Vukar growled.

Snow began to gather quickly on the floor of the ship. Not wanting to keep the door open for too long, Dark stepped out into the snow, looking over the surrounding area. Jak and Vukar followed her out. While Jak walked up to the side of his fellow, female hunter, Vukar slammed the drop ship door closed, snarling as the wind and snow bit him on the face constantly.

Dark reached up and clicked on the side button of her mic once more, hearing a slight beep to confirm her channel selection. Then she stepped four long feet away from the others. "Dark Angel, testing," she said normally.

Sandz's head rose from within the cockpit of the ship. "I hear you loud and hear," he replied. "Jak, Vukar. Radio in and see if your mics are working properly."

Both tribesmen pressed the button on their mics in unison, still looking around and glaring at the snowy caps that surrounded them for thousands of miles from their location.

"Jak hare--testing."

"Vukar speaking..."

"Good, good! Your mics work just fine. Okay, now get moving. The factory isn't too far away from here."

The three hunters regrouped, making their way toward the edge of the cliff. They surveyed the area, looking for an easier pathway that would take them directly to the factory that lied below.

Dark saw a series of large cables stretching across massive communication towers that were used for radio transmission and general power. The towers dotted all the way down to the factory, but the distance was still quite a long way. It was the onle way--she figured--that they could get down there quick enough, undetected, assuming they used something to ground themselves from the electricity. The only other alternative was the long passageway that naturally and dangerously wound down the mountain wall of the cliff. She turned to the others for their opinions.

"So what do you guys think? Which way should we take to get down there?" she said, placing a gloved hand on her hip. As the wind speed picked up, the sound of snow and ice pelting her armored suit and helmet could be heard. She laid her ears back, preventing the icy wind from flattening them to her displeasure.

Jak studied the obstacle in front of them. "I have an idea..." he said, "let's use the cables to slid down. With our glarves, we _could_ technically avoid touching the dangerous wires."

Vukar looked down at his feet and then at the huge tower that overlooked their landing zone. He discovered that the particular boots he wore, he could probably grind down the steel railing that went alongside the massive towers. He turned to Jak and Dark, sharing his idea with them.

"Vukar has grind boots. He can use that rail thar to get down to the factory on his own." He stepped toward the edge of the cliff, looking how far down the drop was and then at the railing only a few feet away below it. A well calculated jump was all he needed to successfully land on top of it.

All of a sudden, Dark remembered about her Grapple Shot that was a part of his suit, a forearm attachment that could probably latch onto the large, steel tower bars. With a press of a button underneath her forearm, where a small panel housed a miniature keyboard on top of her forearm, the grapple shot popped out and pushed out some of its hooks.

"All right, here's what we'll do. We can't screw this up on the first try, because I don't believe any of us has a jet pack. So here's the plan: Vukar, you grind down using your boots. Jak, you have your gloves, use your wrists to guard you against the electricity, assuming the towers are still operational after all of this time. As for me, well, I'll swing my way down using my grapple shot."

"That sounds like a feasible plan. Get to it, already," urged Sandz, having listened to them the entire time. From the front of the drop ship, he gave them a thumbs up.

Without saying a word, Vukar ran back a few feet, paused to align his jump, and then dashed off, jumping high above the rail when he reached the edge. The others had to admit it was an eccentric thing to do, but thankfully the tribesman landed without losing his balance. He successfully landed on a railing and slid down it with incredible speed, igniting a trail of sparks beneath his boots. He was already ahead of the game. In mere seconds, the tribesman appeared to be nothing more than a dot, something swift on the railing as it neared its end.

Jak turned to Angela. "My turn," he grinned. "See yar on the factory grounds. Remember, I'll have yar back in the front watchtower. Vukar--in the back."

Without saying any more words, the Jobian stole several feet back, just as Vukar had done, and took a moment to gather enough courage to go through with his plan. He ran the mental image of how he would get a hold of the cable in front of him. Reaching it wouldn't be too much of a problem, and all he had to do was latch on; the task would be just like jumping out of a plane. And once he mustered enough courage, he sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him, making sure not to trip in the snow as he made his approach toward the edge of the cliff.

At the edge, he bent his knees and leapt in the air, and then the sight of him disappeared from Dark's point of view. Worried that he might have fallen, she quickly ran toward the edge, stopped and looked down at the tower in front of her.

She couldn't believe it, but he had actually made it. His body swung dangerously as he gripped the cable with his gloved hands and switched over to position his wrists to crisscross each other; and, with a fluid body maneuver, he used the momentum to his advantage, and slowly but gradually picked up speed. In time, he made his way down the cable, griping another, different connecting cable, as the time called for it, for each line had a certain length before another tower would impede his path.

It was Dark's turn to show a little courage and skill. Behind her mask, she scrunched her face, and began to whisper a short prayer, praying that she would not be clumsy this one time to prevent--no, _cheat_--death once more.

Looking out at the tower below her and at the subsequent ones that descended toward and beyond the snow-covered factory, she searched for something to attach her hook to. She found that the top, metal sheet of the first tower to be a sufficient hook point, so she aimed steady and fired. There was no turning back no, for the hooks would reel in the second it attached itself into something.

The small hooks exploded forth like gunfire, extending a strong, titanium cord. When it jerked, it was a sign that she had successfully hooked onto something below, and seeing that it was the top of the first of many towers, she realized it was a tad bit too late to wait for the hook mechanism to be guided by voluntary movement. It had begun to automatically pull her in, closer to the edge than she wanted to be. Before she went over the cliff's edge, she jumped off in wild fright, screaming on the way down.

When her body swung forward and traveled up into the air, she released her hook and quickly aimed for another tower bar just in case gravity tried to pull her back down to the bottomless, foggy abyss that she dared herself not to look at. With another successful cling to a metal object of another, neighboring tower, she swung forward again, repeating this swinging manner as she had done before, and quickly conquered her fear of falling.

From below, some several yards from the factory's entrance, Jak and Vukar grimaced at the thought of Dark having fallen to her doom, but when they looked back they saw an image of a figure swinging toward them quickly, ridiculously side to side. They tapped their ear pieces twice, and then one of them covered his mouth with a clawed hand as if to whisper to the other some remark about women in Dark's situation.

"If that's what she sounds like while swingin', imagine what she must be like in bed."

Vukar exploded with laughter. "Mhm."

"Come, Vukar, let's get into position before she gets hare."

The tribesmen split off into separate directions, with one heading toward the front side of the factory while the other ran to the back of it, taking the long and hard path along the side of the factory's westward wall.

By the time Dark completed her final swing, she deactivated her grapple hook and landed near where they had been standing moments before, creating a form of herself in the snow in a crouched position. Slowly, she rose with adrenaline coursing through her body. The way down, from tower to tower, left her badly shaken, but she tried hard to ignore the fact that she was scared out of her mind. And she dared not to look back to see how far she had come from the insertion point.

Her voice cracked. "S-sandz, we've all made it down to the f-factory."

"Affirmative. Get into position and wait for further instruction."

She looked at the front of the factory complex, noticing a figure scaling the far right watchtower near the entrance, with only his clawed hands. On his back his long rifle dangled with every motion of his progressive body. The figure was undoubtedly Jak, whose job was to overlook the courtyard beyond its gates. It wouldn't be too long before he reached the top and report his findings.

Dark ran off toward the side of the factory, following the same path Vukar had traveled. At the end of it, she saw him cut a corner at the end of the path, and believed that he, too, would soon climb his tower at the back of the factory. She seemed to be the only one getting behind, so she looked for a way to infiltrate the compound.

The walls of the compound stretched at least forty feet into the air. There was no way she was going to climb like her friends; she lacked the physical strength and will power to accomplish such a feat. Instead, she had a better idea. She directed her grapple shot high into the air, past the utmost ledge of the far western wall, and fired. The gadget exploded quieter than before because of the wind, and sure enough the hooks latched onto the back of the multilayered fringe. Pulling on the cord with her arm to ensure its securement, she pressed her boots against the wall and allowed the gadget to pull her up quickly. Within seconds, she reached the top of the wall and perched on top of it, surveying the quiet courtyard while her Grapple Shot retracted into her forearm.

The scene of the courtyard, that stretch a long ways from the main gates to the middle factory, seemed undisturbed. There weren't any robot guards belonging to Megacorp to be found anywhere. Shipment containers of various sizes and shapes were stacked in a variety of ways, covered greatly by the unforgiving weather. Some of them were left open while others remained closed. They provided excellent cover for the thievish type. She would be sure to use the shadows they provided to conceal herself until the time was right to surprise the thief.

The ground around the boxes seemed safe, but just as the satellite images from briefing showed, there were little plates that appeared to be dots before littering the area. Mines. It was true the place had been rigged with all sorts of nasty traps for unexpected guests.

Lost in her thoughts of what area among the hundreds of containers that would make a suitable position, Jak spoke to her. She remained kneeled, looking up at the tower where she had last seen him ascending with great determination.

"I'm in position," he said. "Just in case yar've fargotten where I am, have a look at this." An infrared beam streamed down over the courtyard and quickly found its way to her, placing a bright dot on her left thigh. She traced the beam back to its origin, noticing how the beam shook a little. The beam disappeared, and then he spoke again. "The courtyard is clear--for now. Vukar should be checking in soon."

Another voice, "Vukar is already in his tower," he growled softly. "Bombs..._not_ ready."

Dark shook in silent laughter.

"Dark, yar should take shelter in that large container in the middle of the yard. It looks like a promising vantage point," suggested Jak, switching on the infrared beam of his tactical sniper rifle, shining it onto the aforementioned spot.

She gave a nod and stood. "I see it, and will do."

With a strong leap, she launched herself into the air and landed on the first container below her. She quickly leapt from one container to the next until she reached the middle of the courtyard, stopping in front of the container she wanted and looking inside it before going in to hide. Both panels of the container had been removed, so she could look in two different directions and, if necessary, hide in the shroud of darkness from where the sky light couldn't reach the container's interior.

Sandz transmitted from the drop ship. "Good to see that everyone is in position. And now we wait."

"How do we know that he'll really come here? And on this particular day?" Dark asked, feeling not too fond of the idea of a long stakeout without any intermediate.

Sandz's final words were, "But that is what comes with the job of a bounty hunter, Dark. It's the beauty of the work--never knowing when or what will happen until it happens."


	12. C12: Behind the Thievery

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Twelve

"Behind the Thievery"

**11:12 - Planet Yeedil, Protopet Factory, Bogon Galaxy**

A couple of days passed as Mr. Fizzwidget's suspicions grew worrisome ever since the absence of his leading geneticist, the researcher he put above all others to tackle the grueling, mandatory laboratory work in the development of the new protopet project--Prototype-X. He thought her mysterious disappearance was irregular, and especially of someone who believed punctuality was law, or so it seemed. As a contingency to keep the project on time, he resorted to placing the project into the capable hands of the next scientist who was more than willing to complete Dr. Cross's work. Dr. Graham. The project fell under his absolute control and it neared its completion. Soon, the new pet would be shipped off to Megacorp's distribution centers across the galaxy.

Meanwhile, Abercrombie put his worries aside and had already begun filming the first of many commercials for the new protopet.

He stood outside the factory with a small, robotic cameraman at his side. The early morning wind swept over him as he adjusted his red tie and patted down his hair. He checked over and ran a hand down his neatly tailored Megacorp business suit; his old, gray, and spiked hair had even been coiffured to his liking by a stylist minutes before. He looked sharp as ever, like a famous celebrity, while piecing together his speech mentally. After another maintenance rehearsal, feeling both confident and optimistic, he signaled his camera robot with the snap of his fingers to begin recording. The robot simply switched into its record mode, a mechanism built within it that turned its large eyes red to show that it was capturing images.

"Ahem," he quickly cleared his throat. "I'm ready, vidbot. Film in five, four, three, two..." he said, standing erect with his short arms down at his side and his eyes straight on the focal lenses of the camera bot.

When he spoke his round body jiggled, making his antennae bounce above his head. "Hello, I'm Abercrombie Fizzwidget. Here at Megacorp, we keep you warm, we keep you healthy, and we keep you safe. We've already gone the extra mile to keep you a happy and satisfied customer--and we're going even further."--he gestured and pointed toward the camera bot--"Bringing to you each year, whether it is household gadgets, weapons for personal security, or nutritious foods that keep you fit, we're always hard at work coming up with the newest and most innovative ideas to better serve you." He turned to his side and pointed at the prodigious factory behind him.

"Here at the Megacorp Protopet Factory, where we've brought to you the cute and lovable Protopet, a new and revolutionary pet is being put through its final tests, and soon it'll be the perfect companion that your children will grow to love. We are proud to present to you, Protopet Kitty. Come, step into the factory with me and see for yourself how this new companion can make a difference in your child's life and in yours."

Abercrombie turned and walked toward the facility, entering it as large, double doors opened automatically with a thunderous reverberation from its massive hinges. Followed by his vid-bot cameraman, the robot stopped the live feed, its eyes returning to their natural lime gel. Once they arrived at their next filming destination, the laboratories, the camera bot began recording again with another signal of the founder's hand. With two snaps that was the robot's cue to take still pictures instead, but to keep recording the sound of his voice too.

They stood before a long window that showcased the happenings in a laboratory where the new protopets were being housed, tested, and tagged. Inside, various researchers continued to test out the resilience of the feline creatures, checking to make sure that their previous weakness of photosensitivity had been resolved. While one group of examiners used flashlights and other light devices on one protopet, others were stigmatizing a row of others, giving them proper names and identification codes. The protopets made very little noise, which was quite similar to the original protopet, except for when they were being branded; then a strange yip could be heard.

"As you can see, our experts thoroughly test for the quality of every pet before they are shipped off. Each pet is given a unique name and identification number, making it hassle free for you to access our online databases for an assortment of accessories designed specifically for your personal pet: you have the choice of purchasing anything from food and water bowls, toys, litter brands, and much more, and if you have any questions, you can have them answered by our around-the-clock pet experts." He snapped twice for the bot to take several pictures of him pointing, the researchers working, and the new protopets playing so he could choose from them later.

The vid-bot shot several images, sometimes zooming in and out with its eyes.

"Each pet comes housebroken, non-allergenic, and sterile, so these cute pets won't be a bother to your existing ones. For the low and affordable price of a hundred bolts, you can get your very own Protopet Kitty. Or you can trade in your original Protopet and we'll cut the price in half. That's right, in half! So order online today or come in person at Allgon City, Damosel. And remember, at Megacorp, we _care,_" he said sweetly, and then snapped his fingers once more.

The vidbot ceased the recording and sped off to put the pieces of the commercial together. The founder placed his hands behind him and studied his wonderful team of geneticists who were hard at work. Suddenly, another holo-vid bot appeared at his side, having crept into the back room of the laboratory. It was the same robot that brought him his daily messages from Ms. Noodlebottom, his secretary.

"Oh, what's this?" he said, turning to see what the vid-bot had to show him. "A message from Ms. Noddlebottom?"

The little robot expanded its mouth into a large, flat projection screen. On it, an image materialized of what appeared to be his secretary.

He placed his hands together. "Aw, Ms. Noddlebottom! Are we on schedule as planned?"

"Yes, Mr. Fizzwidget. We are on track with the protopet shipment."

"Good, good!"--he then gripped the sides of his business suit--"What's the word at our distribution center on Smolg? Are they anticipating our first shipment?"

Ms. Noddlebottom smiled. "Yes, sir. According to the report I received earlier from our distribution facilities there, they have already prepared a few million containers, including small boxes for which to individually store one Protopet Kitty to its designated box. This first shipment will be enough to supply four to five planets in the first quarter. Other facilities on Damosel, Notak, and Boldan have anywhere from half a million storage units to fulfill customer demand in their surrounding areas on the day of the pet's release, but not all of Bogon will have the Protopet Kitty on the first day, sir, but give it another month or two and there will be plenty pets to go around."

Abercrombie stroked his mustache in thought. "I see. After the success of the first protopet project, I'm sure this one will yield in more revenue by the year's end."

"Sir, do you plan on making an appearance on Damosel to showcase and distribute the first new protopet?"

Interrupted in his train of thought, "Oh, um, yes, yes. I'll be in Allgon City for the debut of the first Protopet Kitty sold. After all, people like--trust--a face they know. Heh."

Noodlebottom looked down at the cluster of reports on her desk and began to organize them, remembering another important message as it found its way into her hands.

"Oh, Mr. Fizzwidget? There was one other bit of news...a message from...the Manhunters. Shall I read it to you--"

"No, no, Ms. Noodlebottom," he chimed, "I'll read it in my office."

"All right, sir. I'll fax the message to your office."

"Is there anything else?"

"No sir, that's it." He rubbed his forehead, beginning to turn away from the vid-screen.

"Alrighty, then. Good day, Mr. Fizzwidget." The infobot contracted, minimizing its mouth-screen back into its recognizable slit of a mouth, and turned to leave just as it had come, hovering away quietly. Abercrombie turned his attention back to the commotion in the laboratory. He stared at the new geneticist placed in charge, who had more than happily procured the protopet project.

Dr. Graham, with clipboard in hand, stood in front of the next protopet that was to be branded with its unique identification number. Unlike his fellow researcher Angela Cross, he was a native of Boldan, having the privilege of wealth and education behind him. Although he appeared to be similar to her, in the workaholic style as she too often portrayed, as a Boldanian he was reminiscent of a meerkat--short, lithe, and with a slight mesomorphic build that befitted his kind and his age. Only a few years older than the true head of the genetics department, his technical and scientific knowledge aided many of the projects Megacorp funded that were equally important as the ones normally assigned to Cross. For awhile, he had managed to keep a professional demeanor about him, but after the disappearance of his competitor, he gradually allowed his deep contempt for her to surface at the sudden mentioning of the her name.

"Dr. Graham," said a tester, "we've successfully managed to fix the protopet's photosensitivity weakness. Just like you said, with an extra injection of--" The tester was cut off by the emergence of the company founder, who made his way over to the geneticist in charge.

Dr. Graham simply flicked his ears at the sound of someone approaching him, but he did not turn to see who it was. He was too content with figuring out the complex data in front of him clipped to his clipboard that an unexpected touch of his shoulder brought him back to the natural sounds of work with a slight startle, and then he motioned around and looked up at his surprise visitor.

"Ah, Mr. Fizzwidget. Is there something I can help you with?" he said in a thoughtful voice, lowering his clipboard and readjusting the tiny reading specs he always wore.

"No need, Dr. Graham. I was just checking in to see how things are going down here in the lab. I just finished a commercial for the new protopet."

Dr. Graham made a simple motion of his hand, drawing the founder's gaze onto the group of busy researchers, scientists, and examiners. "As you can clearly see, Mr. Fizzwidget, we have a profound staff always working around the clock to perfect the Protopet Kitty. I assure you, things are right on schedule. And the previous flaw that Dr. Cross's staff found with the pet has already been corrected. These pets will be the best thing to ever hit the market, sir. Friendly, obedient, and nonaggressive, these little angels are nothing short of a masterpiece."

"Why, that's wonderful!" Abercrombie laughed. "And I've just received some good news from my secretary."

"Oh? And what did she have to say?" The geneticist crossed his arms, tapping the clipboard against his side.

"Our galactic distributors are eagerly awaiting their first shipment of these wonderful creatures. Come first light, we'll have a few million shipped out."

Graham gave a bold smile. Inside, he rattled with extreme confidence, extreme pride. "I trust nothing will go _wrong_ once these creatures are in the hands of our distributors, but it's not like it'll be _our_ fault. These pets are _perfect_. Did I forget to mention that not one of our staff members have be added to a casualty list? That's a record!" he smiled and pushed his glasses back to his face.

"Why, that's amazing. Astonishing! I'm amazed at how quickly this project resumed in the absence of our top geneticist," Abercrombie said with a chuckle, patting the doctor on the shoulder.

For a moment, the doctor's fur bristled at the mentioning of his competitor. His short, striped tail swayed in indignity, and he became stiff. He promptly fixed the way he looked, trying to return to his regular self by making an excuse to roll back the sleeves of his lab coat as if he were bothered by a sudden blast of body heat.

"Is...t-there...any word of A-angela's mysterious disappearance?" he stammered, a sign of his animosity resurfacing for even saying the other reverent name in the company. "You know, this project was almost deterred because of her spontaneity. She leaves no message of her decision to 'not show up,' and this makes me question her on a professional level."

Abercrombie gave a simple, reassuring smile that showed his faith in his most prized geneticist. "No, there hasn't been any news of her whereabouts, but wherever she is I'm willing to bet that she's doing something right--for the company. I know there have been times when she's been less and less dependable, sometimes completely unreliable, but somehow she always makes a comeback and leads the company in new directions."

"I suppose," Dr. Graham said a little surly. "Despite her miraculous aptitude to conceive grand things, this project was still completed _without_ her."

"Oh yes, we must give credit where it's due. Your endeavors won't go unrewarded. Rest assured, it would be nice to have her back. Given some time, I believe, she will contact us as soon as possible."

Graham curled his lips in a supercilious smile as he said, "_I certainly hope so_."

Abercrombie turned as if to leave, but returned a smile to the geneticist and his staff. "Good work and good day, Dr. Graham. I must return to my office for another pressing matter."

"And the same to you, sir," Graham returned, walking over to a lab table, putting down his clipboard, and taking a scalpel into his furry hand.

Once Abercrombie was out of sight, he raised the surgical knife above his head, found something soft on the work surface, and stabbed it--leaving the blade on its sharp end. "_Angela. Cross_," he whispered to himself and scowled.

Back in his office, Abercrombie leaned back in his executive chair and held the reports that he had been faxed by his secretary. The few sheets of paper, with news sent all the way from Snivelak, detailed the events after the theft on Todano. The news startled the old man as he learned how the elusive thief had managed to invade yet another one of his company's esteemed transit manufacturers on Jakata. Whoever the thief was behind the mask, it was becoming a thorn in Megacorp's side, and a nuisance that needed to be dealt with in urgency.

He read over the last part of report, which conveniently provided a call-back number. Intrigued to learn more about the partially successful mission, he entered the number into the vid-screen of his computer. In seconds, an image of a receptionist at the Thug HQ appeared.

"Thugs-4-Less," said the reptilian thug. "Pay for six and the seventh hit is free. What can I do for you today, sir?"

"Hello, could I have the Manhunters department."

"And just who is thiz may I refer to as a potential customer?"

"Oh, I'm already their employer."

The thug grinned. "I see, just holdz a sec..."

The vid-screen on his computer went black, then a series of distorted noise and static conflated, and a new image slowly came into focus. A large, reptilian person, undoubtedly a Snivelakian, appeared standing with his massive back toward the camera.

He was neither a thug brute or henchman, nor any other category of classes that defined the thug hierarchy; he was the new leader of all thugs. He looked nothing like the former leader of the organization. Built similarly to that of a henchman, one of the more smaller classes of thugs, but his body mass told another story of that a brute. It could be conjectured that he was possibly a hybrid of the two, and if that were the case, his robust body alone showed how well off he was in his body armor which adorned his chest. Long, spiked, and scaly strands that protruded from his head made up his hair, combed back to look debonair. And on his back, left sheathed in their long and wide scabbard, were his dual swords.

The holovid behind him caught his attention and he turned, almost methodically, to face the screen. As he turned, he footsteps were heavy with every step, showing for the amount of unequivocal weight he must carry. And with a heavy breath that was neither soft or gruff, he opened his eyes--flaring red.

"Ah, Abercrombie Fizzwidget," the Thug Leader said. "I take it you must want to hear more about the Manhunters' first mission?"

Abercrombie gave a reluctant smile. "That's positive."

"Very well, I will take you through it step by step." The thug leader gave a nod. "Just as the report stated, two members of the Manhunters division arrived on the scene early in the morning at Jakata City."

The thug leader reached out to touch the screen of another holovid, one of many that hovered around his station. The holovid he touched activated and went into a library of satellite photos that had been collected, switching through thousands of images until it found the one of the bounty hunters' arrival at the transit compound.

"Little did they realize, the thief had anticipated our move, and out came one of your Megacorp tanks. The tank--_your armored vehicle_--destroyed everything it wheeled over, and my team barely escaped the devastation." The holovid by the thug leader flipped over the previous image for one that showed the still explosions of the hangars which housed other military vehicles.

"Inside the tank, we discovered a robot accomplice, which took us by surprise. We now believe the thief is not alone in his operations,"--he folded his gigantic arms--"That would explain why he's been able to pilfer from multiple corporate buildings, on numerous planets, in a short amount of time. Anyway, toward the end of the battle, we were able to gather images of the thief from a secret satellite relay system orbiting the planet. However, the thief slipped through our fingers this time, but he won't be so lucky the next time. Have a look at these pictures..."

He touched the screen once more with a claw and a couple of different photos, taken from various angles, showed the robotic accomplice and then its unmasked owner.

Abercrombie removed his glasses to clean them, and then slid them back on to get a clearer picture of the thief. "Do you know what planet this thief is from?"

"We are still looking into that. But what we do know is that he is possibly a lombax--a native of our system. As for his accomplice, from what I heard from the two trackers, he called it XL-17. Does the _XL_ part rang any bells?"

Abercrombie shook his head. "Not that I know of. Why? Should it?"

The thug leader smiled. Long fangs protruded from both sides of his lips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it's potential coordinates of the thief's next series of heists. After all, he hasn't been robbing from your corporation with a blind eye. Here, take a look at this map," he touched a different holovid with a claw. "This is a map of our galaxy. Of course, this is only _theoretical_, but if we put an X and an L, beginning at Yeedil, you'll find something interesting."

On a second holovid, the screen expanded an image of Bogon in its entirety, making an accurate depiction of all the places the thief had been or has yet to strike, with accordance to the robotic name theory.

"From Yeedil, the X goes through places such as Oozla, Boldan, Gorn, Endako, Grelbin, Hrugis Cloud, Joba, Todano and Jakata. These are all places near or where the thief has been to. Now let's try an 'L' and see what other places the thief hasn't gone to."

From the L marker, an X automatically drew over it, touching other planets or neighboring areas in the galaxy.

"Now, from Yeedil, we have the last part of the L shape near Notak and touching Siberius. So what do you think of this educated guess?"

Abercrombie soughed, realizing there were no other leads to follow, so he might as well go along with the hunch. "It sounds both feasible and preposterous, but what other alternative do we have?"

"It is a long shot, I know, but from what intel we've gathered from the XL-17 model droid, Siberius is definitely one of the next targets. I've already sent the Manhunters to check it out. If they come into direct contact with the unknown thief, they will be sure to take him in--alive, if possible."

"There is a Megacorp facility there, manufacturing heavy artillery," Abercrombie said, remembering the long forgotten but operational base there.

"If that's the case, then it sounds like this thief is going to need some help moving all of that stuff around. Don't you worry, the Manhunters will get there on time. They live for the job," said the thug leader as tapped the two holovids he had activated, shutting them off, and then turned to face the one in front of him.

"I will inform the Manhunters' captain. She will make sure things go smoothly this time. Should anything else come up, we'll send you another report. Time is running out for our little thief friend."

"Good job. I knew I could count on you."

The thug leader's eyes beamed brightly. "Piece of cake. We'll get you your man. Over and out," he said, terminating the holovid and leaving Abercrombie to his thoughts.

Abercrombie reclined deeper into his chair and locked his fingers, staring off ahead of him in deep contemplation. "I wonder why this thief is stealing from me. What is he preparing for?"


	13. C13: The Heart of a Lombax

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Thirteen

"The Heart of a Lombax"

**05:25 - Planet Siberius, Megacorp Munitions Factory, Bogon Galaxy**

"Visual," said the expressionless voice of a computerized pilot that constantly navigated a transporter within the wintery skies of planet Siberius for quite some time. "Approaching the Megacorp Munitions Factory in thirty seconds."

The long trip was unorthodox for a general flight that took hours to reach its destination--in a transporter that was meant to carry large shipments of foodstuffs, and nothing more. It was massive and wide enough to house a small fighter and a crew of six. The ship's hull was built with reinforced steel to provide extra strength should it inevitably find its way into a skirmish, but even then it wasn't exactly designed for combat, but only for the transportation of comestible goods that required heavy lifting. Among the robotic members aboard the ship, the person in charge of this costly expedition was a tall, anurous lombax.

Appareled in a tight-fitting, lightweight combat suit that was heavy enough for external protection and light enough for maneuverability, the lombax stood heavy and expressionless. He wore a long, brown cloak. The chest plate of his armor covered his upper body and tied around to his back. And on it, there was an archaic engraving that told a story of its own of where he came from; it shone the impression of a lombax species, armed with his sword drawn ready. On the broad shoulders of the lombax, and on his knees, plates of armor added to his overall look of a warrior. Lastly, a masked helmet concealed his identity, but only the dark--crimson--nefarious glow of his eyes brought the mask to life, and his somewhat long, pointed, and striped ears which extended from the back of the mask, through the round openings, was the only feature about him that truly disclosed his species. It seemed he was dressed for battle.

"Ten seconds," the voice of the pilot droned again just as the ship veered past a mountainous landscape riddled with snow, taking a treacherous route within a gorge, and then flying into a more secluded area where the Megacorp factory lied hidden.

The lombax motioned toward the side of the ship, gripping the handle of the door and forcibly pulling it open. Crystals of snow and ice hailed and pinged against his masked face and body, but he ignored the chill they brought to his ears. Behind him, his cloak fluttered wildly as the wind blew hard into the cabin. His robotic guards, like bipedal troopers, mechanically swiveled their heads to see their target--their violet eyes brightened.

Megacorp's frozen factory suddenly came into view more clearly. Its massive compound and guard towers were the first of many things that welcomed the lombax's eyes. The transporter slowed to a steady hover when it came into the vicinity of a towering wall, but remained several feet high above it and its unoccupied watchtower. It flew to the back of the factory where it looked more of a derelict. And with the wave of a gloved hand his battle bots rose on their metallic feet and walked toward the opened door. Three of them, each armed with an arm-mounted laser cannon, leapt from the ship, descending like wraiths in the dark, cloudy morning sky.

When they landed in the courtyard of the factory grounds, they rushed toward the back shutters of the munitions depot. They readied their arm-mounted weaponry as they moved as if to obliterate anything that moved into their field of vision. Stopping just in front of the rear entrance, they halted and waited for another order before continuing.

The transporter turned and hovered to the front of the middle facility where--the one just before a large courtyard full of transport containers--the rest of the robot guards jumped off the ship, followed by their lombax commander.

He landed on top of a massive metal container just a few meters away from his guards, who made their landing in the snow by the entrance of the factory. He kneeled to examine the surrounding area further, trying to note any potential booby traps that may have been placed nearby. Gesturing for the bots in front of him to commence with their job, he brought up a forearm to his mask where his lips would be, and gave the order for the others waiting in the back to proceed with their mission.

The machines in front of him charged up their arm-mounted cannons and fired a barrage of explosive rounds powerful enough to destroy the shutter that impeded their progress. The sounds of their weapons were heavy and intense, and sure enough they tripped a security system. The remains of the shutter were nothing more than smoking, contorted metal. From overheard, sirens blared and warning lights flushed over the compound and colored it red. The lombax, unfazed by the alarms, reached in under his cloak at his side and brought forward a deadly rifle. Slowly, he rose to his feet as his small, robotic force stormed into the factory, disappearing inside.

Suddenly, side doors on both sides of the center compound rushed open, and some of Megacorp's robotic sentinels charged the scene of the theft in progress. They were armed with small but deadly blasters. They spotted the thief atop the container and took aim. In rapid succession, several blasts came his way. He reached down at his belt bucket and pressed a button, activating a cloaking device; and then his form disappeared. The bullets passed by without finding their mark.

The guards remained as they were, battle ready, their round eyes still fixed on top of the container were the intruder had been. Off to their side, the thief reappeared and cocked his weapon ready. With a pull of the trigger, he shot a fierce, electrical pulse of energy that split the guards asunder, one by one, into hundreds of bolts. The might of his Pulse Rifle was unmatched by their mediocre weaponry.

Moments later, a message greeted his left ear. It was from the team that had entered from the back of the factory.

"Objective completed," said one of his guards, its voice accompanied by the sounds of blaster reports being exchanged in the background. It seemed his first team had encountered some resistance as well.

"Good! Then you must have the weapons?" he responded in a serious tone.

From the front of the compound where he stood, his second team of guards had finally returned, carrying a large stockpile of weapons that had been bundled into a convenient shipping box. They carried three of these--to each his own. They held the boxes in front of them with the greatest of ease as they exited the factory, waiting for their next order to be given. The lombax looked up to the awaiting transporter above the compound, bringing his forearm up to his mask again. The mission was over.

Without warning, new sounds of explosion, a miniature battleground could be heard at the back of the factory. It wasn't the same as what he had heard over the communicator in his helmet, so he knew something had gone wrong. And when he looked away from the transporter, a thick, red beam, followed by a burst of a rifle, resounded in the immediate area. The pilot of the transporter had been struck, reducing him to simple bits of metal and bolts.

"What!" he growled, looking around frantically to see where the sniper originated. He spun around, looking at all four watchtowers, but he was too low at ground level to make out any conspicuous form.

The ship began to fall, slowly, and crashed into the westward wall of the courtyard, bursting into instant flames. From these flames, they produced enough of a flare to brighten the courtyard orange. Behind the wake of fire and rumble, a part of the concrete wall laid out in waste.

From the explosion which shook the entire area, it activated an orgy of mines that had been littered about--seismic charges, that shot up from the surface, exploded, and sent a wave of electricity through and in between the containers and passageways of the courtyard. In response to the pulses, the motion sensors in front of the compound triggered yet another security system. Where small, round orbs were hidden in four strategic points in the yard, they pushed over the heap of snow on top of their machine guns, and began to rotate a metal chamber. These chain guns began to twirl and roar viciously. They fired an endless, aimless stream of bullets--creating a type of deadly shield around the courtyard, cutting off all entrances and exits.

The masked lombax stood in the way of one of these lethal lines of gun fire. He whirled around in a flash and destroyed the two turrets that fired at him. The guns erupted in a small ball of fire, the last of their rounds narrowly missing him and penetrating a row of containers to his side. There were just two more machine guns from a great distance, but they weren't of any concern to him. The sounds of their frantic shooting made him smirk behind his mask.

An infrared beam appeared and quickly motioned onto one of his guards beside him. Another report of a sniper rifle stretched across the yard and echoed in the mountainous region--another one of robots decimated. He finally realized where the beam originated and readied his rifle. Taking aim, he prepared to fire his rifle when the sight of someone else appearing atop the container he had been on moments before made him pause. The sight of a masked female bounty hunter surprised him, really, because she looked to be of his kind. It was during this short period that he stared transfixed, he watched as she threw a grenade at his feet.

The grenade erupted at his feet and blinded him, coating his battle suit with a green phosphorescent solution--the substance, incredibly viscous. He growled and changed targets, preparing to fire at her out of rage. The sole infrared beam returned and rested onto the rifle in his hands. _Boom!_ He immediately dropped his weapon in the snow, looked down at his gloved hands, and clutched them; they agonized from the powerful shake of his weapon, which was now destroyed.

When he looked up again, the female was nowhere to be seen. He reached down and activated the cloaking device at his belt, blending in with the background of the factory. Only a barely visible outline of his body could be discerned, but he had forgotten about the phosphorous grenade that tagged him, giving away his position by the bright trail of its solution as he stalked silently in the snow.

He leapt atop a container and hid behind the surrounding ones. He could hear her footsteps as she drew close to him. He knew she was following him, so he quietly crept through the container he was in, formulating a trap in his mind. He waited, listened for her position, and when it sounded like she had jumped down to where he had seconds before, he climbed on top of another box.

He looked back where he had been waiting in the dark and saw the green trail that followed him. Using this to his advantage, he jumped from one container to the next to lure her, and then hid again in another empty one. When the huntress came to him once more, he waited for her to emerge from a box below and, when she walked by in a cautious manner, he pounced her.

Together, they rolled onto the surface of the box below, into a defensive stance thereafter, and faced each other. She could see a part of him clearly with the aid of the solution from the grenade, but she still needed to find a way make him appear fully and deceive him into coming within the range of her fellow hunter--sniper; that was her best bet in trapping the thief.

The thief's combat suit dripped green as he said in a nerveless, young voice, "Who are you? You are of my kind by the looks of it."

The female cocked her head to the side. "We are _nothing_ alike. Larceny doesn't suit my tastes," came his icy reply. "You're coming with me, back to Snivelak."

The lombax deactivated his cloak for a moment to show himself. He tried to wipe away the sticky substance on his armor, but ended up smudging it. "Ah, I see why you're here. You're a thug bounty hunter that I'm willing to bet Megacorp has hired to capture me," he said through the mask, laughing. "I'm flattered."

"You could say that." The huntress stood in a combat pose.

"Hm. I'm afraid I won't let you take me in so easily," he motioned with a finger. "If it's a fight you want, then I'll give you one." He reached down to his belt bucket again, about to enable his cloaking gadget, but noticed that his adversary reached for something on the side of her waist too. In one fluid maneuver, he disappeared and strafed just moments after she had activated her plasma sword and slashed at him, stealing a good portion of his cape.

His voice came again, "Let's continue this somewhere with more room. Climb to the highest box and we shall..._dance_."

She heard his laughter again, followed by his loud footsteps as he leapt from box to box above her. Dashing, rolling, and climbing toward the highest container at the center of the courtyard, he was incredibly fast and fluid in his moves, and soon he was on top of the highest box. He turned back to see the huntress in pursuit just as equally fast as he was.

As he waited for her, he brought up his forearm again, and gave a new order for his remaining machines. "Robots...abort the mission and destroy whatever intruders you find," he said. Afterward, laser fire was being directed toward a far back tower opposite of the one where he knew a sniper was--seeking him.

So there were three bounty hunters, all waiting for him: one on the ground and two up in the watchtowers. Amazing! They had finally learned how he was targeting planets, specific Megacorp facilities and armories, across the galaxy. It had to have been because of the lost unit he left behind in Jakata--the only explanation.

He followed the bright rays of two more rounds from the sniper in the watchtower, probably destroying his machines at the factory entrance, but he didn't let that notion dissuade the possibilities of his escape. He wanted to escape, but with his transporter destroyed, right along with his space fighter, burning in the yard westward from where he stood, he knew he would have to bargain a deal with the hunters to get off this tundra, or be captured by them.

The top of the crate on which he stood and waited vibrated when his assailant jumped on top at last. For a minute, she too, stood at her end, pressing a finger against one of her ears. She whispered something in secrecy, it seemed, but he ignored whatever she was plotting against him. This was an exciting development--to have been taken by surprise by thugs and their organization, and the fact that they had even managed to enlist one of his own.

When she was ready, she approached him, making a note on the top of the box where the green trail ended. Not waiting for her to get any closer, he lunged with a surprise punch--knocking her back. The female stumbled back a couple of feet, but she returned with a similar attack after she caught her balance. She tackled and attempted to pin him, raising her gloved hands high above her head and trying to come down on him with them. He put up his hands and stopped her, and then flipped her over him with a knee.

She landed on her back. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed at her once more, but she brought up both of her boots and kicked him hard as she could, knocking him back down. He fell on his back with a growl. When he rose, he turned in time to parry one of her attacks, using her arm to bring her forward and then push her back, and down to her knees when the hold was complete. Seeing that he was going to strike her with his other fist, she leaned back and made him miss, and then swept him. Again, he fell on his back for a third time.

He seethed. "You're becoming a pain!"

He quickly rose and rushed as she had done, and came with a straight kick. Together, they exchanged boots, heel-to-face, and reared back in pain. The sound of his mask being knocked off of his face and clanking along the metal containers below reassured the huntress that he was now vulnerable to facial attacks, if she could see him.

He grew a little weary from the battle, feeling the numbness of his face where her boot met. Not waiting for her to rise again, he performed a series of forward flips, stopped in front of her, and swung a crescent kick. As if anticipating the attack, and judging by the sounds he made in his advance, the huntress ducked, balled a fist, and buried it as hard as she could into his abdomen. There was a deep, extended groan from him, followed by the ignition of sparks, where the cloaking device was attached. She had smashed it. Frozen in the moment of the heavy blow, his chin met with another one of her fists, and a large string of spittle escaped from his mouth.

The uppercut hadn't been strong enough to send him into the air, but he however stumbled back and took it like the lombax he was. In a flicker, his form and identity came into view, and he was no longer able to hide in obscurity. He looked down at the broken device, and then at her. He reached out to her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and slammed his head against hers. While she was dazed, he swung her by the arm and released her off the container.

He turned to take off in a sprint in hopes to escape the sight of the sniper, leaping off the container and onto a neighboring one in great strides. He was heading for the front entrance of the compound. And just when he thought he had escaped the vigilant eye from up in the watchtower, with all the jumping, climbing, and rolling, the tactics of a free runner, one last explosion rang in the courtyard. Amid a jump, he cried out in pain, as the sniper round penetrated the side of his suit before he could manage to land on the next container. Once he landed on the container, he stumbled a couple of steps forward, examined his injured side, and faced the horizon, where the sun was beginning to rise. He fell slowly onto his knees and then over onto his side, slipping into unconsciousness.


	14. C14: Estorando

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Fourteen

"Estorando"

**15:37 - Feltzin System, Thugs-4-Less Relay Station, Bogon Galaxy**

"Hey, Carlz? Have youz seen the new protopet infomercial? Are youz gettin' it?" inquired a thug technician, tapping a clawed finger on a small monitor screen in front of him.

The fellow Snivelakian sitting adjacent from him, dressed in a similar black uniform, returned a snarl as he swiveled in his chair to face his coworker. He lowered his red eyes from his comrade's command station to the same small and round vid-screen just a few inches in front of him.

Carlz spoke in an equally hoarse voice, "Grav, that aired yesterday. You knowz Megacorp always deliver these new products" he gestured with a hand, "a day before they release them." He turned round in his chair to the front of his work station, bringing up his hands to prop his head up and staring absent-mindedly at the various numbers on his command screen.

"But are youz getting one? I am. I couldz train it to be like my personal weapon--like what the Jobians did with the Saur-Beasts," he said as a mischievous grin stretched across his scaly lips. "Besides, Megacorp assured us it's a hundred percent loyal. I'm going to name mine . . . Ballistic."

Carlz reclined in his chair. "Thatz just wrong,"--sighing softly--"I ain't getting one, either. Well, not for me, anyway. Maybe my teenage daughter could have some use for it? You know how she got last year when I forgotz to buy her a weapon last year."

"Haha! Yes, teens are awful thingz--"

_Beep! Beep!_ chimed the radar system in front of Carlz, who quickly looked down and studied the small screen attached to the right armrest of his chair. On the screen, it emitted a thick pulse from its central point, the relay station, lighting up a small dot near the edge of the station's sensor field.

"Was that a blip?" said another thug several feet away from the other two. The reptile pulled on his headset and waited for another blip to sound and appear on his scanner. "Port this to the main screen, Carlz. If something's coming, we'll seez it better on the big screen," the thug ordered, beginning to type in some commands on his keyboard. Afterward, he turned slightly in his chair to face the oversized projection screen which hung on a long wall in front of them. Altogether, their eyes searched the enlarged radar screen.

When the radar lost the confirmation of an unidentifiable object, the room grew deathly silent and cold. They exchanged worrisome glances to one another, their hearts racing. Minutes passed by and still there were no more reports of the object on screen. Not fully complacent with the idea of a possible attack on the relay station, the closest means of communication with their home planet Snivelak, the one in charge gave another order as a reassurance.

"Grav, increase the sensor range to its maximum capacity. Just to be safe, I want a double check on everything," he said. "And when youz done that, change the sensor field and run an electromagnetic check around the station for … say … a few hundred meters. Surely, if there is some kindz of ship out there, it won't go undetected. If nothing showz up, finally, run a ionic diagraph approximately a hundred and fifty feet around the circumference of the station."

Grav returned a vehement answer, "Yes, sir!" Immediately, he began his work, typing feverishly on his keyboard.

To the left of him, Carlz inputted the commands for the calibration of the station's satellite dishes to aid Grav in running the many different system checks. When he completed this task, he reclined in his chair, pulled on his headset just as their superior had done, and waited for the station to take its course. All around them, the soft hum and occasional thug confirmed Grav's duties, for the dishes were repositioning atop and around the station in tandem, locking into their respective places.

When everything was set, an icon appeared on the main overhead screen, waiting for the next order to given by Grav. He took a moment to eye his superior over his shoulder and with the press of a key he initiated the computer system's secondary check, the increased scan range; the station responded in immediacy with a charged sound as it readied a beam from the tips of its multiple dishes--and from all around the triangular-shaped station, with long, gyrating rings at its topmost and nethermost extensions, where the small satellite dishes marked strategic points for the greatest pickup range in a three-sixty environment, there coalesced a thin, cyan energy, flashing sporadically until enough power had been harnessed--the dots connected and conceived a glorious beam at the top and bottom tips of the relay station, crackling with energy.

Inside the command center, Grav pressed and held down another key. Stationed at the center of the station, they could see the gathering light of the dishes through the small windows on both sides of the room. Once the charging of the dishes dissipated, a small explosion rang—and shot forth a javelin of energy.

A smile broadened on the lead thug's face as he saw this. "Excellent, excellent . . . ." he said to himself, folding his arms and watching how the beam soon disappeared from their sights, and appearing as a massive microwave on the radar scanner, extending beyond the farthest reaches of the relay station. Once the beam reached its targeted area, it lost its color with another resounding explosion, creating a gigantic sensor field for which the relay station could detect more objects in space than it could be possible using its regular range.

On the main screen, the radar picked up many random objects a few hundred feet around the station, most of which it easily discerned as bits of strewn asteroids among other things discarded in this quadrant of thug space occupation. Again, the radar sensed nothing out of the ordinary, and the original blip didn't reappear.

Carlz stroked his tough reptilian chin in thought, sighing. "There has to be somethingz out there."—he scratched his head, creating a jarring sound—"Could it be that the radar malfunctioned?"

Grav turned in his chair after staring away from the main screen, feeling convinced that there was nothing to worry about. "I secondz that thought. Sometimes these thingz happen, Captain."

The captain bore down on his subordinates with an unimpressed stare. "Faulty equipment, my ass," he said as he rose from his command chair and pulled off his headset. "It's from past experiences like these that I knowz whether or not we're bein' invaded,"—he walked over to the two and clasped their shoulders—"and what you two seemz to be forgetting is that technology is always getting better. A thug's weapon is his bond—the bigger, the better. Now Gravv, do what I told youz to do and run that electromagnetic scan. If there is trouble, whatz we to do with only the three of us? Hm? I'd rather be in danger and call in the report to HQ than to die all for nothin'."

"Aye!" Grav and Carlz concurred in unison with a growl, and then went about resetting the station's system for additional scans.

After a minute of preparation and constant key typing, while being watched by their captain, the system was set for another scan. Once more, the station's satellites moved by electric-powered pulleys, being repositioned for a sort of different scan pathway than before. When everything became settled, Grav activated the electromagnet scan, one a little different than the first scan.

"The scan is ready. On your mark, Carlz. One, two, and . . ." he motioned toward the other technician, and gave a nod to signal the final key press. "Okay, we're scanning now."

They all stared up at the main screen again. A radar image went from a green to a black background. After perusing the new reading, the captain squinted to fully examine a conspicuous happening at a corner of the screen, in an area a couple of hundred feet away from the station. What appeared to be motes of electronic interference transformed into the silhouette of a small space fighter; moreover, it alone moved at a gradual pace toward the station.

"What do we have here? See? We have an intruder. Carlz, ready the station's cannons. I'm not taking any chances on this one," he said, releasing the shoulders of his subordinates, returning to his station's chair behind them, and pulling on his headset. "Carlz, if we can't establish communication with this aircraft, turn him into space dust. Got it?" The captain turned to the front of his chair, turned some dials at his command center, and then flipped a switch for radio transmission.

In the cockpit of the anonymous Megacorp space fighter, a masked and heavily armored pilot stared emotionless at the space station ahead of him, the various luminous lights inside the fighter reflecting off the visor of his helmet. His fighter roared behind him with a thick smog of white exhaust; his thrusters, burning a fiery orange. As the fighter flew dangerously close into the firing range of space station, the pilot flipped a switch on the top of his control stick, his metallic, gloved thumb resting an inch off the button which controlled the release of a fearsome ionic missile. A second later, his highly advanced fighter intercepted the transmission being sent from the space station.

"Unidentified space fighter, statez your name and business for being within thug space territory," demanded the thuggish voice without some much as a hint of fear. "I repeat, statez your name and business for being within thug space territory--or suffer the consequences," the voice added, but it didn't incite the pilot.

Back inside the relay station's command room, the captain elevated his left arm and then lowered it quickly, signaling Carlz to begin firing.

Carlz acknowledged his order with a nod, turned back in his chair, and entered the commands into the system. Responsively, the station's pulse cannons, mounted onto the defense rings of the station, came online with a motorized tumult. Chambers, heavily packed nano-cartridges, were being loaded and charged inside the rotating cylinders of the cannons, and once they were set, their large, tubular barrels retracted in an extending pause, for a moment as if to take aim, and shot forth with powerful successions—jettisoning a packed oblong coalescence of raw energy.

The cannons of the relay station rang out in wildness, shooting forth a storm of energy packed disks.

The initial volley of energy disks lapped at the surrounding space around the space fighter, trying to disintegrate it. The small ship rocked continuously, but the pilot did not veer from his course. In response, he pressed just one of the many red buttons on his control stick and engaged his ship's missile weaponry. And out from the slots beneath the split nose of the ship ejected partially ionic missiles, tipped in red. A second later, they burst from the space fighter at incredible speeds, passing by the explosive waves of electrically charged disks the space station had shot forth without pause.

The missiles flew in circular motions as if they had a mind of their own, dodging and weaving out from the potential hot spots where they could be prematurely detonated by the energy disks. On radar, they appeared to be two big dots launching from the small fighter, going at speeds seemingly faster than a shooting star. The visual alone was enough to intimidate the three Snivelakians within the relay station.

Carlz's eyes bulged at the realization of missiles heading toward the station. He turned sharply in his chair to the captain, "Sir, sir! Incoming missiles," he shouted in excitement, slamming his fists on the sides of his keyboard.

Suddenly, Grav chided the other. "Carlz, you idiot! Of course he knowz the missiles are coming. We all do," he motioned to look at the captain for an immediate answer. "What should I do, Captain? Run the last scan or destroy the missiles or contact Snivelak?" he breathed furiously, turning back to the radar and narrowing his eyes at the brightly lit dots.

The space station captain look indecisive for a second, but then barked several orders at his subalterns to respond to the attack. "Carlz, deal with the missiles. Initiate the machine gun turrets. Grav, run that ionic diagraph I asked for to seez how many intruders we're dealing with. Where there's one, there's _always_ two," he said. After giving the commands, the two lizards continued looking at him. "Well? What are youz two staring at me for? Get your asses to it!"

Carlz entered the commands for the machine guns to become operational. Out on the station, where the cannons were relentlessly firing an endless succession of energy disks, small plates in between them popped up and the machine guns rose from their hidden ports. On each of them were a pair of tiny, thin antennae erecting automatically, serving as a means of motion tracking. They began scanning for the nearest threat, the head, encroaching missile. Within several seconds before the missile could pass the station's first defensive barrier, it erupted into a mass of flame, illuminating the whole front side of the station in a spectacular reddish light. Because of the visceral power of the missile and its close proximity the station, its explosion caused the occupants of the station to rear back in awe and fright.

"Whoa! That was too close," said Grav, gripping the armrests of his chair.

Carlz clamored, "Here comes the other one. Incoming!" he warned a couple of seconds before the second missile exploded early in front of the station, brightening the room from the front and side windows. Everything within the room quaked like clattering teeth, and then settled down. The sounds of the machine guns stopped abruptly.

"Where's my third scan, Grav? We need it," reminded the captain, glaring at said technician. "Depending on the odds against us, the number of enemy fighters will dictate whether or not should we sendz a warning to HQ of a possible invasion. If we's go down, it'll give the enemy the advantage of a surprise attack, which is something we's don't want."

While Grav typed in the commands to pull up the ionic graph, reports from the two technicians' scanners warned of more threats, blipping a total of six times, repeatedly. These beeps were enough to make the spikes on Carlz's and Grav's head stand on their ends. Grav put his fears aside and brought the third scan to the captain's attention. "Captain, it's up!"

"Oh . . . my . . . god . . . ." was all the captain could utter, amazed by what he saw on the main screen.

The main screen showed an enlargement of the radar scanner when switched over to read ionic signatures, and not only did they all see the registers of the two missiles before, and the next batch of imminent ones, but also the first signs of more enemy fighters, which were slowly tailing the first space fighter. Altogether, they were closing in—fast. The captain did the only thing he could do . . . he flipped a switch to begin an encrypted channel to Snivelak, but before he could say anything regarding the invasion, intense static blasted into his ear. He ripped his headset off his head and stared down at it on the floor. Communication outside the station was lost.

"Whoever is behind this invasion, they've obviously jammed our communications. We're all alone up here," he said despondently.

Carlz and Grav stared at each other, not knowing what else to do but to . . . .

The captain rose from his seat and growled, "We'll keep fighting! It's the only way," he said in a last breath of resolution, looking into the eyes of each of his subordinates. "It'll be pointless to try and escape this station in podz: we won't have the timez to eject before those missiles hit us."

The radar continued to echo loudly. On screen, there were about a hundred small, trilateral shapes materializing on radar, to each its respective representation of a blip, and following behind the seemingly ceaseless wave of enemy fighters was one gargantuan starship which towered all the other ships around it, assuming a central point amid a pentagonal formation—one for an assault.

Out in space, the enemy fighters not tailing alongside the capital ship broke from formation and began to swarm around as they flew faster and closer to their target. Some distance away, only one ship had positioned itself in front of the massive invasion. It had already fired six more missiles, and they were only several long seconds away from breaching the defensive barrier of the relay station, where its defenses suppressed heavy fire. There was no telling if the station would be able to deter the inevitable.

The lead missile of the new batch finally reached through the unrelenting cannon fire unscathed, followed by three more only seconds behind. When the machine gun turrets sensed the presence of the first missile, they redirected, twirled their thick gun barriers, and unleashed scores of vicious gunfire. At the sounds of the turrets firing, the station occupants watched the main screen for a prayer, a sign that they could outlast the assault.

Another explosion rang in space and lit the station with a radiant red hue as the first of several missiles was destroyed by the turrets. Two more missiles escaped the remains of the failed missile and continued their speedy approach. Abruptly, they were caught by a stray line of cannon fire. Beside them, three more raced forth, managing to evade the most difficult area of the station's defenses. Together, they separated from their course and dispersed into a wider pattern, drawing the cannons' fire away from the massive fleet.

Two missiles twirled a dangerous course round the heavy fire and managed to enter the station's safety perimeter, and then the third remaining missile traveled downward, taking a dip to one of the station's defense rings. Where a missile failed to destroy one of the station's cannon, the other succeeded in damaging a cannon; the third, successfully obliterating a portion of the station's lower defense ring.

The station rocked violently in response to the external destruction caused to its foundation.

Carlz fell forward, but caught himself in time before the station's momentum slammed his head onto the work desk in front of him. Moments later, the station's alarm system sounded; perpetually red warning lights filling the room and twirling as expected.

"Damn, damn!" he growled, eying his command screen to read the reports of the extent of the damage caused by the missiles. "We's taken damage at the lower junction of the station, and we lost a defense ring. The cannons there are either out of proper firing ranger while the others on the broken piece of the ring are destroyed and cast into space."

The captain leered at the fact of losing the battle as he said, "Damn it all to hell! Who is attacking us?" He rubbed his forehead. "Strap yourselves in, we's going in for overtime," he added before settling down in his chair again, pulling down diagonally a safety strap across his chest. At his waist, he clipped on another belt, fastening it tight.

Suddenly, the remaining missile came into contact with another portion of the station; its impact feeling closer than all the others, for the windows had begun to patter, showing signs of deep cracks. And when the others, as well as the captain, heard this, they quickly turned their heads to the windows, losing a moment of breath. The captain stared at the damaged windows the longest, fearing what would happen if they were to shatter. He motioned his head downward, slowly, to assay the dire situation at hand.

He elevated his head when the others looked at him with eyes full of fraught. He did not say another word, nor did he issue any other commands. He watched as the others strapped themselves into their chairs. Before them, the radar projected an outside camera image of what the nearest, lurking space fighter looked like. It shone a black aircraft with nothing emblazoned on its sides—no insignia, no true indicator of whom the menacing ship belonged to. It looked like nothing out of the ordinary; a custom modification that bore no semblance of a Bogon maker. Mysterious as its pilot, the craft boosted forth past the station's formidable defenses and swooped in like a wraith, with its machine guns blasting away with pinpoint accuracy as it flew within several meters before the structure.


	15. C15: Valek Thratcher

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Fifteen

"Velak Thratcher"

**18:07 – Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ, Bogon Galaxy**

_Slam! Plow! Thug!_ These were the common sounds of young, aspiring henchmen and brutes, as well as other classes of thugs, who struck the hard floor after being given daily, proper training by the peerless beauty that was Captain Natasha—Manhunters leader and the Thug-4-Less Army's combat trainer. She wore a black instructor's uniform: a pull over v-neck top, a matching jacket and pants. The small class of six were all dressed in simple, loose combat clothing of brown. One by one, each thug endeavored to grapple the shabox, but met without much success, being hurtled over her shoulder and sent flying in the air for what seemed like eternity to the person being thrown. If one of them dared a frontal attack, she would block and parry off the attack, her small frame flowing like the wind, like a current, riding their momentum to a point, and then bringing up a fist for which to send harshly into their chest; the resulting grunt and grimace, or a pathetic yip they sometimes bayed, were what the captain expected every time one of her trainees accepted any of her mighty blows. Falling down seemed to be their only option—a wise choice—whenever she struck, for a sign of weakness would be just the attitude she hated, and her hatred for a sign of an unfavorable foible in the soldiers--under her command--would not be tolerated; moreover, it encouraged her meanness, something only a handful of thugs would ever profess. And if ever one of the trainees dared to kick at her during the training, she would instinctively catch his leg and retaliate with a fierce punch to the face. In all their agony and failure, she toughened them not only to be hardened privates of the thug army but also with the possibility of a few of them actually becoming a future Manhunter.

Despite all their hardships, there was one particular Snivelakian she seemed to be most fond of—beating him more than the others. She always did a little something extra to stir the young, aspiring henchman, who always declared before training how much he wanted to be a _true_ thug. While the others guffawed at his big dream of becoming notorious just as one the elite members of the Manhunters division, Captain Natasha would shake her head and give a warming smile, reaffirming his optimism to an extent. But even at nineteen, there was one particular trait no other could ever emulate and that was his ability to shoot. A skilled marksman, and being only just that, was one of the two things that kept the other thugs off his back about his ambitious nature: he had the skill, but lacked enough experience to move quickly up the ranks; and as for the other reason no one ever made his experience at HQ a harrowing one was the nature of his relationship with a soldier above the ranks of all enlisted soldiers--Stravek Thratcher.

After showing the remaining, exhausted thug soldier to the floor, Captain Natasha dusted off her furry hands and beamed slightly at the _organic _pile she had created at the center of the training room within the Training Facility. "That's enough practice for today, come back at 2200 for a rehash of everything we learned before and today. Go soak your heads, boys," she said in a firm voice, picking up a small, discolored rag and throwing it atop a brute's face. "SPC Thratcher, you remain behind," she singled him out with a finger, beckoning him from among the pile of shifting and rising bodies—soldiers sliding off one another as the larger lizards of the group climbed to their feet from the very bottom of the heap.

Thratcher, slipping off easily from among the top of the bodies, landed on his clawed feet, staggering forward a little bit. "Yes, ma'am?" he called, ignoring the quiet chatter behind him, of the others spewing gossip between him and the captain. It seemed for a while now, on and off, that they were seeing and hearing more from the captain of the young lizard having to always _stay behind_, but they never knew why.

"Velak," she began, eying over his left shoulder as all the others within the group exited the room. "You did . . . performed . . . well today. A great demonstration of your improving combat skills. Your brother would be very proud if he were here to congratulate you himself, but he's at Siberius and on an important mission," she cozened easily.

Velak's eyes softened at the mention of his brother's name. "Why, of course he wouldz, if he couldz, and"—he sighed softly and averted his gaze from the captain's eyes as he spoke—"he's always been so busy ever since he gots promoted to be a part of the Manhunters. I don't sees or hears much of him anymore, but when I do our conversations are—brief."

Natasha clutched his shoulders and pulled him close, eying him with a little sentimentality. "Velak, you're the most courageous and selfless thug I ever had the privilege of training. You are already a part of the army's second line of defense, probably their secret weapon for all I care, one of the Specialists, right? With your skills, you'll move up the ranks in good time. Persevere," she brought up his chin with a hand, smiling again. "Besides, you needn't try to impress me anymore; you've already done that the moment I started training you."

"Yeah, I knows. But even as a Specialist, I'm the last one called in. Well, mostly," he smiled a little, enjoying the caress of her hand against his chin. "And if you says so, Captain, I won't try to dazzle you . . . out of me's pride," he grinned, receiving a small bop on the head.

"Smart-ass and adorably cute," Natasha purred. "I'll tell you what, Velak, I'll put in a good word to the general and get you assigned under Captain Rezabar, who is charge of the aerial defense task force. He'll assign you to a helicopter and a pilot, and together you two can survey the outer rim of the base today. That should be enough action for a day than having to hang around the cantina, eh?" She turned to leave and walked slowly and alluringly toward the exit, wriggling her short, black-striped tail.

Velak studied her, noticing how her body language spoke crescendos of wantonness, the way her luscious hips swayed made his mind run rampant with thoughts of carnality. Not even the right species, the immorality and irony of it all, to be instructed by a woman whose entire being marred from the whole thug order, created a deep-heated desire in every soldier's wildest fantasy to be with someone as attractive as Captain Natasha, and yet it was only a notion, something to dream about. Velak shared this vision of want, but in actuality he had something more secret that would make the others turn green with envy; a secrecy that could make him or destroy him in its entirety. He being a male, it was already programmed in his nature to stare, to attract, to want something far out of reach. But for him, to be constrained by rules was enough of an impetus to make him braver than any other thug to answer one's own question about the possibilities of having a companion. And from watching her leave, knowing how deliberately she tried to lure him into her trap, it worked, and his emotions waned the instant she stopped by the threshold of the door.

"Is there something mores . . . that you _wants_ to say to _me_? Can _I_? Can _we's_?" he uttered almost in a final battle cry, his voice clear and somewhat loud enough for her to sense his desire for her. "How long is before the end of _this_, I wonder?" he said louder, as if the last sentence pained him as he had said it bravely. He stole several steps closer, stopping and waiting for an answer from her.

The shabox did not motion around; instead, her ears perked up, she pursed her lips into a curt smile, before answering in a voice too kind, too sly. "The first time is the last time: the last time is like the first time. When will it end, you ask? It _could_ end today, tomorrow—next year or never, but neither of us will challenge that," she said, curling her tail high for him to see. "You already know _when_, _where_, and _why_. Meet me—_soon_," she said, and then pushed open the door and left him to his thoughts.

Only a few months after the completion of reconstructing the base into something more fortified, the thug headquarters had changed greatly, with some new additions to their mobile force. Upon entry into the base, there were eight buildings in all, each varying in usefulness. The reinforced glass shielding walls had long been removed around the center of the complex in favor for force field generator systems. The center was rebuilt into a recreational area for the soldiers off duty, a place now referred to by all new thugs as the plaza. To the left and right of the base entrance lied long, rectangular buildings; these were the sites for the second line of defense with the use of heavy artillery, such as energy cannons and anti-aircraft weaponry. These long and narrow buildings also housed an unbelievable number of privates, newly enlisted thugs from all parts of the galaxy.

The next couple of large buildings on the far eastern and western sides of the base housed, separately, the depot for backup space fighters, _attack-ships_, and other aerial assault vehicles. The building on the eastern side was the Manhunter building, a place also used for training new hopefuls. Between these buildings on the far sides of the base, two smaller buildings lied parallel to each other—the one closest to the base entrance was the newly built cantina; the other, a large and personalized barrack for veteran soldiers. And just north of the barracks was the capital building where all communicative activity were received and sent and orders given by the new Thug Leader. Finally, the last two square-shaped buildings, built considerably smaller than the others and erected on both sides of the main centre, were where heavy ground vehicles were kept. But even with these rearrangements, some parts of the thug headquarters remained relatively unchanged . . .

Before the headquarters the main bridge remained as it did for years, built sturdy and kept suspended by massive chain links on both ends the bridge's super structures. The roadbed stretched a mile long. The command tower, another source of mass communication for the thug army, was as it were approximately fifty yards from the beginning of the bridge. To the right of the tower was the first line of defense, the launch pad for _attack-copters_. Down every corner and street, deep, round, crimson lights lined the ground in perfect succession and light posts—with small vid-screens bolted high—around each corner, followed the labyrinth pathways until they reached the farthest stretches of all sides of the base. Almost at every junction, hidden among the futuristic architecture of the massive compound reaching some hundred stories, were a series of force field generators that were currently inactive. In the streets, armed soldiers ranging anywhere from henchmen, brutes, and non-Snivelakian species occupied the streets, marching by the hour and always being wary for trouble within and outside the base. Together, they sometimes served as peacekeepers and peacemakers, depending on the nature of an uprising caused among the off-duty thugs. Fights sometimes erupted between the young and the old thugs, the majority of them acting as patrons at the cantina; their battles were regularly spurred on by gambling.

Nearly two days after the Manhunters had been dispatched to apprehend the thief on planet Siberius, there was a meeting taking place inside a conference room in the central facility north of the barracks and Thugs-4-Less plaza. With no response from the Manhunters, this was enough to cause a little worry for the Thug Leader, so he had arranged a meeting with his highest ranked officers—Captain Rezabar and Captain Natasha. Before the meeting could start, however, the shabox's absence had already begun to pique the thug leader. He fleered as he slowly paced around the room, his every movement being observed mindfully by his Barlowian captain.

The former Vukovar tribesman released a soft sigh, beginning to wonder the whereabouts of his esteemed comrade. He tapped a clawed finger against his thug army chest plate, reminiscing of the past amid the silence between him and the leader of the thug army.

Rezabar had been the only noninhabitant to rise in rank to captain several months before Natasha, and unlike her area of expertise of martial arts, his lied in the Thugs-4-Less Air Force. A connoisseur of flying, commanding and instructing, he became the authority of the Thugs-4-Less air defense task force, earning the immediate respect of all thug pilots and soldiers. He was the former mentor of Natasha, who became his prized jewel after having learned the essentials of flying and teaching, many saw the young girl as being his protégée. After teaching the shabox everything in the arts of flying, making certain the woman developed an appreciation for the trade, she rose in rank just as quickly. Together, ever since the beginning, they were an inseparable pair working cohesively together, sharing a type of relationship as a father and daughter would. But those days of instructing his former student were over.

The middle-aged Barlowian stood to attention, powerful and stern, when his general spoke, voicing his displeasure for Natasha's lateness. "Where is Captain Natasha? She is delaying us greatly, and it's becoming very _bad_--for her," he seethed with a bit of annoyance in his voice.

Rezabar spoke in the shabox's defense. "I, too, have noticed har becoming less and less dependable lately. It makes me wondar what keeps har so busy. Surely har duties aren't as rigarous as mine," he said, his eyes softening. "Perhaps we should go on without har? I could always inform har myself . . . about har tardiness, General."

The General turned to him and gave a nod, pulling out a chair from the conference table and sitting down with his massive hands interlocked. Captain Rezabar remained standing and stole a glimpse of the conference room door, imagining his fellow captain walking in any minute, but no such thing happened.

The general's green and brown uniform rustled as he moved in to a more comfortable position in his chair. With a hand, he combed back his spiked strands, and then cleared his throat. "All right, let's begin," he said in a deep, self-possessed voice which echoed within the room. "What is the current situation at the heliport?"

Rezabar drew in a deep breath, "Well, sar, everything is in ordar as you requested: the heliport has been refarbished to accommodate our attack-ships and drop ships; what available airmen we have from our air forces on Gorn are prepared for their next assignments; around the base, a patrol is in constant operation. Everything is in motion: evaryone is working around the clock. Newly enlisted thugs are growing in great numbars evary day, sar."

"That's great news, as expected from you, Captain. And what of the off-duty men? Has there been any new developments? Conflicts?" The thug leader reclined in his chair, folding his arms behind his head.

The Barlowian shook his head slowly. "Nothing out of the ordinary, sar. A few random fights at the cantina and within the plaza, but nothing the guards patrolling those arias can't handle."

"I see," said the General. "And what of our mobile force? Are the redesigned Hover Tanks operational yet?"

"From what I hard from the mobile commander, they are oparational--ready for . . . well . . . war," Rezabar chuckled, turning his head once more to the conference room door. "I'm curious, General . . . what of the rest of the grand army--Notak, Gorn, Hrugis Cloud, Joba, Barlow, the Feltzin System?"

The abrupt opening of the conference door forced the general and captain to turn their heads as the late shabox slipped inside quietly more so than she had entered. She was dressed in her usual Manhunter fatigues of green and brown, which accompanied a small, black boonie that kept her raven hair flowing down her back. On the epaulettes on her right shoulder, there were two silver-tipped gold bars, the same rank as the air captain's. In her hands, she clutched a thin binder full of documents. By the smile on her face, they guessed she had some good news of her own to report. She walked and showed a sanguine air about her, her tail swaying in soft, rhythmic curls as she approached the table. She acknowledged her fellow captain with a nod, and then saluted to the general, whose less than enthusiastic nature returned a piercing look.

Captain Rezabar was the first to greet her. "Captain Natasha, as always, yar beauty commands the highest respect," he said as he politely lowered his long neck, bowing. "How are yar doing? And what have you thar?" He eyed the binder in her hand with a suspicious temper.

"Captain Rezabar, General . . . ." she began, but was interrupted by the thug leader. He unfolded his arms from behind his head and held up a hand to her, shaking his head in a dismissive way.

"Before you report your findings, Captain Natasha, I demand an answer for your _absenteeism_." The general's face marked indignation; eyes flaring a quasi, seething red.

The shabox sank with a bit of uncertainty on how to explain herself. To gather her composure and maintain a justifiable, presentable demeanor, she mustered a serious countenance, placing the binder in her hand down onto the smooth table top. Her small shoulders became level; her stance, efficacious. Her tail hung low, curled at her boots.

And without so much as lying or telling the whole truth, she said, "Well, I received the memo pertaining to this meeting a little too late. I was at the Training Facility, giving the hopefuls combat training, and thereafter I had to speak with a prominent student of mine in regards to Captain Rezabar and field duty, sir." She gestured toward her former mentor, eying him for support.

Rezabar curled his thin scaly lips into a furtive smile. "So, I see. Inform me of this _potential_ aftar the meeting, my deer," he said softly, returning his gaze to the general.

The general could only nod understandingly after hearing this, but he kept a look of incredulity on his face. "Very well," he stroked his thick chin, creating a raspy noise in doing so. "What is this file that you've brought here? It better be some news from the Manhunters."

"Indeed, I too would care very much to hear about the progress of this bounty huntar team that is so greatly extolled," furthered Rezabar with a fatherly smile.

Natasha returned an elvish smile to both of them before continuing, "As I was saying, Captain Rezabar, General, I've finally received word from the Manhunters at Siberius,"--she reached down, opened the binder, and pulled out one of many files; the top one seemingly being the one of great interest--"At the Megacorp Munitions Factory, they've managed to successfully capture the thief and are now en route to planet Aranos, where the lombax will be temporarily incarcerated and interrogated aboard the Flying Lab."

Rezabar concurred with several nods. "That is very, very good news. You have trained yar men well." The compliment heated the shabox, making her blush behind her dark fur complexion.

"Thank you, Captain Rezabar. I'm glad _someone_ appreciates my line of work," she said, returning a smile.

The general jerked a finger at the shabox. "Don't push your luck, _youngling_." Then he turned and looked at the other captain, fingering him too. "And don't you _encourage_ her or I'll have the both of ya's polishing every soldier's boots from here to the other half of the galaxy."

The two captains stifled laughter.

"Be quiet, it's not a joking matter. Anyway, I have some good news of my own . . ."

Both captains straightened up immediately. Natasha gathered the files back into order and slid them back into the binder, and then stood at ease.

The general rose from his chair, leaned forward to the desk top, and propped himself up by his bare-purple knuckles. "As I was about to inform Rezabar, Captain Natasha, I was going to make a note of where our forces were in the transitional period of combining and collaborating with the tribesmen of Joba and Barlow and all the other thugs in Bogon . . . ."

Natasha raised an eyebrow and placed a hand on her hip. "So how . . . goes . . . it?" She grinned sheepishly, showing small fangs.

"The thugs across the galaxy are making an effort to make alliances with allies and foes alike, so everything is going according to plan. Soon, we will have one grand military army at all corners of Bogon space--armadas at every system, within reach of numerous planets. Megacorp will probably being our biggest paying provider, requesting our services for support, bounties, and security. Why, we may even become larger than the corporation itself!"

Rezabar whistled. "Thug nirvana."

The general formed a wicked smile. "Yes, Thugs-4-Less will be one massively mobile military. After that, nothing can stop us."

"When will this diffusion be completed, General?" inquired Natasha, coming to the realization of the kind of inclination the Thugs-4-Less army proposed to the galaxy.

The general leaned back into a stance and instantly towered the other two; his monstrous silhouette overcasting not only them but the wall behind them as well. "In days, my dear. In _days_. On a further note, Captain Natasha, I will have a new assignment for the Manhunters whenever they get back. It'll require them protecting a certain someone. More on that at a later time. For now, Mr. Fizzwidget will be in Allgon City, planet Damosel, for the debut of the new whatchamacallit. I'll be sending a small group of thugs there to assist him, to offer him security, because you never know what may happen to the old coot. We need the old bastard more than you know it."

Natasha nodded and tucked her binder under an arm. "I understand where this is going. And I'll inform you if and when the Manhunters return. There are only four of them out there and one left behind for medical attention."

Rezabar motioned his head to the shabox to ask a question. "I presume it's Stravek Thratcher?"

She nodded. "Yes, he was injured during the last mission on Jakata. He should be fully healed very soon for the next mission, whatever it may be."

"If that's the case, then tell him to be a little quicker next time when it comes to meeting your fellow captain and me, all right?" quipped the general, who extended an arm toward the exit, showing them to the door. "That is all for now, captains. Be quick. Be gone," he said, followed by an ephemeral smile.

Outside the central building, the two captains descended some stairs, stopping halfway and observing the long street which ran past the cantina and barracks, and all the way to the main entrance and bridge exit. Behind them, their shadows faced the west, a sign that the sun was beginning to set. The sun lowering partially over the horizon created a soft, aural, orange glow over the buildings and streets of the base; however, the skies remained with a deep, darkened, compressed, red smog. With a whiff of the air, it reeked of machine oil and gasoline, but these smells were common for the base with its many vehicular operations which patrolled the streets just as much as the guards did.

And before the beauteous captain could return to her duties back at the Manhunters office, Captain Rezabar gripped her by the wrist and stopped her. In response, she glanced down at the offending hand and raised both of her eyebrows in alarm. He studied her with great attention, his scaly boned brows lowering.

"Just a minute, Natasha . . . . I sense something new in you," he moved in closer to inspect her, examining and sniffing about. "Did you just freshen up _just befar_ you came to the confarence room? Hm?" He motioned away, releasing her wrist.

A part of the shabox shuddered in fear as an internal waft of coldness spreaded throughout her body. She looked uneasy. She didn't think he or the general would ever notice the sudden change in her appearance, but that assumption came back to haunt her . . . in the violet eyes of her former mentor, who then reached up and touched a few strands of her hair, some of which protruded from the bottom seam of her boonie. His face changed into a state of consternation when he realized that her hair was considerably moist and smelled of some sweet scent. This seemed to be in conflict with what she had said previously about her tardiness.

Her voice matured suddenly and came to her defense. "Sir, what's ever the matter? Is there a problem . . . with my hair?" she reassured herself, believing he would be naive enough to lean in a different direction with his suspicions.

"Yar still _wet_," he said, another thought coming to mind that moment. "I find it strange that you ware more than twenty minutes late to a meeting and yet you said you had stayed behind with one of yar soldiers? Must hair stay moist--like a watarfall--that long aftar the training session?" His eyes narrowed in deep contemplation, and before he could find a logical answer for his reason to suspect something foul with the shabox, she snapped her fingers to bring him to attention again.

"Oh! That's right. The soldier I wanted to bring to your attention," she broached in immediacy, feigning a surprised look. "Specialist Velak Thratcher."

Captain Rezabar cocked a brow, asking, "What of Velak? Isn't he the youngar sibling of Stravek?"

"Indeed, he is," she smiled smally. "For today, I was wondering if he could be placed under your charge because the Snivelakian grows weary of ground duty. I've been owing him this favor, and it's about time I lived up to my word. He's a well-rounded soldier. I believe his talents could be put to great use in the air. After all, he is a highly trained marksman. He needs to be kept distracted."

"Why is that, Captain? Is thar some undarlying meaning to this topic? Why must he be kept--'distracted'?"

"Why, of course there is!" she returned immediately, a grin appearing on her face. A deceptive look formed on Rezabar's face too. "Sir, by request of Stravek, he wants his brother away--out of _his_ way. It's just that simple. Velak is a very ambitious soldier who is willing to do almost anything to get promoted to a higher rank, becoming that much closer to being a Manhunter. If this happens, this creates tension between--" she paused, trying to find the right words.

Rezabar looked to the sky and expelled a light sough. "Creates _competition_, Natasha? I see. We both know how these Snivelakians are when it comes to reputation. Sibling rivalry is something we don't need in the regime," he said, nodding slowly. "Very well, I will barrow this Velak Thratcher for a day, and if he proves himself to be as good as you say he is, I'll keep him undar my command for a while longar."

Natasha offered her paw, "Thank you, thank you, sir. You won't regret it."

The Barlowian pointed a threatening but playful clawed finger at her. "If thar are any problems with the boy, I know where to find you." He said stepping aside and turning to walk away, but looked over a shoulder to say one more thing. "And you bettar tell yar First Lieutenant Ghan to return Attack Ship 9 back to my heliport, or he'll be forced to deal with me. He's had it long enough. We're one ship short for partrol, so I need it _tomorrow_ morning."

"Will do, sir. Good day!" she answered before the roaring engines of a Thugs-4-Less attack ship flew by, piercing the sky at breakneck speed toward the site of the first launch pad outside headquarters.

When Captain Rezabar recognized the sound of one of his ships zooming by, he turned to the sky and growled furiously, thrusting his fist into the air. Somewhere in the middle of his ferocious outburst, the shabox heard him cry, "Damn Brute! I want that ship back!"


	16. C16: Brothers in Arms

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Sixteen

"Brothers in Arms"

**19:13 – Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ (The Cantina), Bogon Galaxy**

Stravek Thratcher stood before a mirror in a private room on the top floor of the cantina, with his hands on the elastic medical band wrapped around his chest, two of his claws lifting, pulling, and peeling away each strap on his left side. He watched as the soft tissue of the band broke easily away, shooting forth a couple of tightly pinched wraps beneath them. When he could fully wind one of the loose bands around his left forearm, he jerked at the rest of the bandage with his right claw. The bandage slid slowly off his chest. And in place of his previous injuries, where parts of his flesh had been charred by his Thrasher Cannon--blasted at close-range--were only scars left behind, a reminder of another series of stories which he could add to his tales of victory.

Behind him, there was a knock on the door.

He dropped several layers of his bandage to the floor, and then motioned his head toward the door, speaking loud enough to be heard. "Youz better have a good reason for bothering me," he hissed.

The room door creaked opened, filling the room with the bustling sounds of the patrons a floor below. Inside stepped a younger thug dressed professionally in armor-clad uniform of green and brown; and, on his head, he wore a small mask which obscured only the sides and back of his head; his face, exposed and marked by importance. When he approached the Manhunter, his clothes and armor brustled in unison. And dangling on his left pant leg, an inch above his waist, was his sword without a scabbard; on his right, his pistol left in its holster. At a glance, he fit the profile as being one of the military police who normally watched over the recreational areas of the base.

The officer stopped a couple of feet behind the Manhunter with his tail bent low to the floor. He cleared his throat as he said in an authoritative tone, "Stravek Thratcher, youz are wanted back at the Manhunters building for new assignment by order of Captain Natasha," the officer reached behind him and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Here's the captain's order," he unfolded the slip of paper and offered it to Stravek without so much as saying another word.

The Manhunter whirled around on one rough heel and accepted the message from the officer. The officer watched with a hint of wonder on his face, his eyes following the famous Stravek's. Stravek quickly skimmed through the message. His face became contorted as he finished reading the end of the memo, lowering it with a clawed hand, and then calmly ripping it into pieces. He motioned toward the bed and retrieved a jacket, a simple item to cover up his wounds, and then he turned to the officer for further instruction.

The officer beckoned with a claw, "Please, follow me. I am to escort youz back," he mentioned and turned around sharply, looking over his shoulder to see that the Manhunter was following him. Together, they stepped out of the room and onto the mezzanine floor.

From the main floor beneath them, at a table shadowed in a far corner, a pair of red eyes fixed onto the Manhunter as he and his escort began descending some stairs winding to the lower floor of the cantina. These eyes narrowed with jealousy and animosity the more they studied the other henchman. When a stray bar light fixture swayed in the direction of the observer, the corner brightened with a dull yellow, and there sat the alone Velak, squeezing his shot glass. His lips were pulled tightly back at the corners of his mouth, exposing the last few sharp teeth in his mouth. His fore lips were chapped, and skin so sebaceous because of having been in the presence of the bar's thick fume of cheap cigars. He had been drinking for the past hour, thinking mostly about the past, his future in the army, and of Natasha.

He said in a low voice to himself. "_She_ lieds to me." His eyes shaped into evil slits.

When his older brother and his escort came around from the end of the winding stairs and were within twenty feet of the bar's entrance, Velak gave a quiet growl and darted up from his chair in drunkenness, knocking over his table in the process. The neighboring thug soldiers, made up of a motley group of henchmen and first-class brutes, were offended by this sudden outburst from Velak that a couple of them suddenly rose from their seats and advanced the uncaring brother of Stravek. They easily dwarfed him with their bigness, but their size alone wasn't enough to daunt the young soldier.

"Hey! What's your fucking problem, pal? You made me spill my drink on my uniform, and I didn't like that one bit," erupted the brute as he cracked his knuckles together and waited for an answer from the silent henchman in front of him. "What should we do with this little pip-squeak, Ralph?"

Ralph, another henchman, curled his lips into a supercilious smile as he too popped his knuckles, and then began to retrieve a pair of his gloves from behind. He pulled on these fingerless gloves, flexing his clawed fingers, and replied with, "We should kicks his ass, that's all I has to say about it."

Another thug from the table of the two called behind them, "Hey, wait a minute. Don't strike up a fight with that lad. That's Stravek's brother. You mess with him and then you deal with _the_ Manhunter."

The brute smirked and pressed a sharp finger into the shoulder of Velak, pushing him back repeatedly. "You're lucky you've got a big brother to look after you. Otherwise, I'd kick your ass just for staring at me, you punk," he snarled, his big nostrils flairing magnificently.

Beside the brute, the much older henchman clutched Velak's other shoulder and reared back a gloved fist, stopping it short before it came into contact with the younger thug's face. Not surprisingly, Velak didn't flinch, nor did he show any other emotion than anger. Instead, he stole a glimpse past the two soldiers and noticed his brother was about to reach the bar's entrance.

Velak gave a cruel smile as he secretly reached for a large beer mug on an adjacent table behind him and held it at his back. "You knowz, if I had the time to pay you two's any mind, for an ass-kicking, I would've already done it. But I has someone else in mind for that. So gets out of my way, will ya's?" He tried to part the two apart and slip by, but they forced him back with a shove.

"Why you smart ass, I don't care who your brother is. If I see you on the streets, your ass is mine," bellowed the brute, who released the Manhunter's brother, and was beginning to turn around and go back to his company.

The henchman beside him followed suit, glaring before retiring to their table. However, before they could sit down and forget about the whole ordeal, they heard Velak speak again. "Good, you's can kiss it and the other can lick it." He saw the brute rise again, followed seconds after by his friend. And before anyone could have guessed what was going to happen next, the brute fell first to the floor after the sound of a glass exploding on his head. Beside him, Velak punched the other henchman, sending him back against his party's table.

After the commotion, everyone within the bar turned their attention onto the fight scene. Velak stood ready in a determined battle pose, targeting the next thug willing to oppose him. The group of thug soldiers rose altogether and moved in on him, with their fists while others drew their weapons.

The first swing from Velak missed and proved most unfortunate when one of the other thugs tackled fiercely. Together, they crashed into a brick wall and with most of the damage being absorbed by Velak. Velak lost his breath thereafter and felt a pair of strong hands collaring him, yanking him up to his feet. Then came another's massive fist across his face. And then another. He felt more attacks landing into his stomach, chest, and sides. It was a losing battle until a familiar voice caught him by surprise.

"You guys just signed your death wishes."

"Huh?" said all of the thugs. A weak, sheepish smile formed on Velak's face.

Stravek Thratcher latched onto the shoulders of the closest thug and pulled him right off his feet, lifting him high above his shoulders. He threw the thug across the room, the thug smashing into a table occupied by other soldiers who too were off-duty, but for fear of a Manhunter, they simply backed up in their chairs and watched the scene carefully.

"It's Stravek!" warned another thug closest to the Manhunter, the same who had had the opportunity to land a blow on the Manhunter's brother. He came out with a combat knife, twirling it skillfully in his hand.

Stravek watched, unamused by the thug's showmanship. The other thugs remaining in the party of six, with the exception of two of them still seizing Velak, they turned their attention onto Stravek. They readied their weapons, all varying in size and degree of destruction--from combat knives to small blasters to swords. After seeing all of these different weapons trained on him, Strevek however only welcomed them, loving the adrenaline rush that came with danger.

Not waiting for the fellow henchman to attack him first, with a quick jab to the lizard's throat, he quickly disarmed him and allowed him to fall onto his knees, the thug grasping his throat in sheer agony. The lizard slumped over and writhed in pain, but Stravek simply stepped over him and waited for the next thug who dared to offend him.

Stravek beamed, "Who's next?" He watched as another brave soldier stepped forth and this time with a short sword. "You then? Okay, come on," he gestured with his hands, bending low.

When the thug came brandishing his weapon, Stravek leapt back to avoid the blade. He evaded again the closer the thug's blade came to him, obliterating everything it touched, from wooden tables and chairs to the bar's walls and windows. Stravek's escort watched in amusement and kept a ready claw on his sword.

The last swing of the sword struck the wooden floor in a sharp angle and caught into it. Promptly slamming a boot down on it, Stravek snapped it in two, and then leapt into the air with a knee, kneeing the thug in the face. The thug reeled back and teetered, finally tripping on his own boots and throwing himself into a booth where other thugs were. They pushed the dazed thug off them, throwing him to the floor.

Another thug of the original party came forth with his blaster and aimed it at the dangerous Manhunter. Stravek approached closer to him, pressing his chest against the end of the weapon. He was unflinching in his approach to deal with the thug, and this made the other soldier uneasy. When it looked like the thug was about to pull the trigger, the Manhunter slapped the weapon down quickly and there was a scream--the thug shot himself in the right foot. His right foot shone a charred hole billowing with circular tendrils of smoke and spumous flesh, and then he fell forward clutching his injured foot. Now there were only two assailants remaining--Ralph and the brute.

The brute released Velak and came forth, narrowing his eyes as if to intimidate Stravek with his nastiness. "Stravek, eh? You're just as _small_ as he is,"--pointing a finger at Velak--"If you want to roll, let's roll then. Get the damn dang done then." He balled up his huge fists and prepared to strike.

The brute jabbed quickly for someone of his massive size, nearly hitting Stravek in the face and chest. Without enough room to maneuver in, Stravek inevitably bumped into a table, which made him lose his balance. A fist caught him in the jaw and forced him to grip the table with both of his hands. Slowly, he stood tall again, accepting another powerful blow to his face. He staggered about before another blow smashed into his face, peeling his head back. He remained standing, returning his head to face forward. Then crimson droplets seeped from his nostrils.

"What's wrong, little man? The great Stravek is too afraid to fight back? You Manhunters ain't shit," the brute chagrined with a victorious smile, flexing his arms and showing the spectators that he was about to finish off the Manhunter.

Stravek sluggishly stepped forward, in a foolish manner, as if to accept another beating. He sniffed up the bleed from his nostrils and spat blood on the brute's feet, licking over his lips afterward. "Come on, big man, showz me what youz got. I'm still standing."

The brute frowned. "Alright, you're asking for it," he said, motioning a fist back.

When the fist came forward, it missed the Manhunter; instead, Stravek gripped the brute's arm and flung him over his shoulder, slamming him into the floor. With a twist of the brute's arm, and a satisfying pop, the brute cried in pain, using his other hand to tap out in defeat. As a precaution, Stravek kicked the brute in the face, rendering him unconscious in an instant, and then he turned to look at the remaining thug--Ralph.

Ralph responsively released Velak and stepped back, allowing the Manhunter to take his brother by the arm and lead him out. Moments before being pulled away to safety, Velak stopped his brother, turned in a flash, and knocked out the last thug standing. Ralph clumsily fell back against a wall and slumped down, looking to the floor with his eyes closed. At this, Stravek formed a broad smile and led his brother out of the cantina, both of them being tailed by the officer.

In passing, the officer grinned. "I couldn't have done it better myself."

Outside, the two brothers and the escort looked back into the bar when they heard cheering. In response, Velak raised one of his arms and cheered too before turning to his brother in a sottish stare, whose expression hardened to seriousness as before.

"Stravek? Why did youz help me back . . . in there?" Velak belched loudly, his voice cracking unexpectedly. "Youz could've just lefts me to get beaten up and . . . and . . . and . . . learnz my lesson."

Stravek's head spikes bristled. "What lesson?" He quickly clung onto his brother and helped him to his feet again when he almost fell forward. "You drunk bastard." Together, they trudged along the main street, taking a path that would eventually lead to the Manhunters building.

"My lesson: I, Velak, am butz a _dog_ compared to the likes of you. My brother is the greatest soldier, the most respected thug here, and yet his brother is only second place--number two." He motioned his head to his brother, becoming sad. "Your reputation is tearin' me apart . . ."--he gestured toward his chest and in the incorrect place where his heart would be--"on the inside. My heart, Brother, has bad aches."

Stravek said nothing and continued looking ahead of them. Their escort followed a short distance behind, giving them privacy to talk.

Velak continued; and his voice becoming filled with great sadness and hurt. "I don't sees youz anymore. Hell, I am not even sure that you's here with me now, I could be dreamin' all of this,"--his voice turned to weepiness; he, himself, estranged--"M-m-my, my, my mind sometimes wonders whether or not if you still have _any_ feelin's for me. I think youz want to _avoid_ being around me. Is that it? I, Velak, embarrass you?" He broke away from his brother's hold, pushing himself away from him in disgust. He began snarling as he pointed a claw at him.

Stravek sneered, "Lies, lies, lies! I do loves you. I wouldn't trade the world for you, Brother. You are drunk and saying anything to instigates me."

Velak breathed deeply, almost sobbing. "Youz don't think I can't sees the big picture? I knowz about you, my brother. Youz been wanting me out of your way all this time. It's no wonder on my mind why _she _keep youz closer to her than me. No matter how hard I try," he growled furiously, "she keep me down and you--**you**--holdz me back." He began holding and shaking his head with frustration.

Stravek came closer, wanting to touch his brother's shoulder. Not used to sudden emotions and bursts of this kind, he became distraught with grief. "It's not like how youz says it, Velak. Youz just don't understand what's going on with me, the army, and the Manhunters." He tried to hold his brother and comfort him, but Velak pushed him away once more as if he were his greatest enemy. "And who is 'she'?" he asked, a state of consternation coming over him.

Velak shot him an icy stare, "Like youz don't knowz! She, your captain! She know everything that goes on," he gripped his head, and then said forcefully, "but youz can keep your reputation. I don't want to be a Manhunter anymore. I has the greatest prize of all--_her_ _love_." He began laughing loudly, a sense of pride returning to him.

Stravek was speechless. He watched as his brother began dancing around in the street like a wild person. He thought for a moment of what he had said and what it truly meant, and then the realization hit me with full force.

"Velak! You fool! Don't youz knows what youz done?" He didn't want to say the truth in front of an officer of the army, for fear of having his brother detained. "She has corrupted your mind, filling it with these thoughts of grandeur. She is playing youz from the start."

Velak stopped prancing around in front of his brother and the officer. "Youz just jealous! She's the nicest person to me, always teaching me how to **improve**. Because of her, I've moved up in life. Where was youz when I needed your guidance?"

A headache tore into Stravek; it was so fierce, he clutched his head and fell onto a knee, facing the street. "Velak, I've failed you. I was supposed to watch after youz, and now youz become _loose_,"--he looked up and stared hard at his brother--"but I won't let you fall like _this_," he said and climbed to his feet. It had finally become clear: he knew what he needed to do to save his brother's life and reputation.

All of a sudden, the sirens all around the base activated, resounding for miles on out. Fear struck the officer and he instinctively reached for his sword. Velak snapped out of his inebriation, if only for a moment, and looked around with a worrisome face. "What's this? My _l-l-love_ calling to me?"

A bolt of lightning flashed in the sky, and thunder crackled loudly, dissipating in drums over the base. More streaks of lightning shone across the base, and then rain raced down harder than it has ever been, pelting the pavement along with everything else like little stones.

Stravek, Velak, and the escort became doused in an instant. Shouts of other thugs also caught in the rain could be heard several buildings over. All of the occupants in the headquarters came alive, all shouting in confusion and fear. A row of military policemen ran through the streets past Stravek, shouting orders. "Bear arms! Bear arms! An invasion! An invasion!"

The Manhunter reached out and stopped one of the Snivelakian guards. He shook the reptile, "What invasion?" The guard forced himself free and replied, "We're being attacked in the outer rim. First Lieutenant Ghan and Corporal Trakgnak have already been briefed and deployed by the General himself. Captain Rezabar is already planning the stages of defense and is forming the second line to protect the HQ. Because we lost contact with one of our relay stations in the Feltzin System more than five hours ago, the general has put us on high alert. He's taking no chances."

"I see, move along then!" he reassured the officer with a slap on the shoulder, and then turned to his brother.

Stravek suddenly recalled the memo given to him by his escort. "Velak! Velak! Natasha has ordered youz to reports to Captain Rezabar at the heliport for aerial assault. Go now! Drunk or not, you **will** defend the base one way or another. And so help me, if you screw this up, I'll finds youz and kick your ass."

He turned to his escort, "C'mon, we've got to get back to Captain Natasha as soon as possible."

Before Stravek could leave, Velak lurched forth to his brother and grabbed his shoulder. "Where are youz going?" he said loudly, the thunderous storm growing louder than before.

Stravek gave a piercing look to his brother and jerked his shoulder free. "To _save_ your _life_, you idiot," he growled back, rain dripping from his lips. "Natasha won't gets away with what she's done to youz and _me_. I'll sees to it."

With that said, Stravek gripped the bottom of his brother's chin and smiled, and then stormed off down the street away from the plaza with escort running alongside him. Velak remained where he stood, watching his brother disappear again, not sure whether or not if he'd ever see him again. He grew cold inside and out, ignoring how the rain and rage made him tremble. In one final outcry, he yelled in the direction his brother left . . .

"I hate youuuuz!" He then fell onto his knees and stared up at the sky, and rain stinging his eyes but following the direction in which the attack-copters and attack-ships flew by. "But I also love youz."

Captain Natasha watched in horror as the invasion went underway a little more than a couple of miles away from headquarters. She stood soft and still and in front of the long glass window of her office with her gloved hands holding her chest.

She saw large objects, unmistakably space pods, coming down from the sky, turned a fiery red from entering the planet's atmosphere. When they struck down on land, they created small craters and obscured their landings with a thick cloud of dust and debris; parts of planet's natural structure crumbling upon impact. She didn't have the slightest inkling of what imaginable horror lied inside, and while other pods came down and smashed into the treacherous parts of Snivelak's ocean, they created a titanic wave of water, a colossal riffle which moved like an aquatic beast beneath the surface until it lapped against the nether parts of the base.

Out from a distance, the communication tower just before the bridge caught ablaze and exploded, igniting the whole area of the outer rim where some of Snivelak's bravest soldiers circled in attack-copters. On approach, attack-ships and attack-copters engaged the unknown enemy forces in the sky, flying in unidentifiable space fighters. Then suddenly, another ship appeared miraculously in the sky, zooming past the battle field, circulating the base, and then coming to halt in a place in the outer rim where most of the space pods had landed.

"That ship, it looks familiar, and like something I'd seen in the archives. Could it be . . . ?" She lost her train of thought when she heard someone entering her office and locking the door. "Who is there?" she asked, and then turned around in surprise to see one of her own.

"Stravek? So you did receive my message then?"

The Manhunter's face showed contempt. "Youz were mistaken if you thought you weren't going to gets _caught_," he gnarred viciously. He made his advance slowly and carefully, knowing all too well how portentous his captain could become.

Natasha's face hardened, her eyes became sharp slits of beauty, and she moved somewhat wickedly from round her desk. Stravek abhorred the way she moved before approaching someone she thought potentially dangerous; it was her way of a fair warning that she was about to attack.

"'Caught,' you say?" she said calmly. "Caught doing what, Stravek? Do you have any proof?" She stopped in front of him. In response, he backed a foot away.

"Youz were fraternizing with a thug soldier, who happenz to be my brother, and youz knew this. I bet youz been having an affair with him from the start, polluting his mind with thoughts of becoming _someone great_. Youz sicken me, Captain."

The shabox stepped back and sat on her desk, shiftingher tail to a side with a hand. "So, I see what this is about. You want me to just _stop _loving him? Does that make you jealous that I do? Hm?" Her sass made him curl his hands into fists. "And what business of it is yours, soldier?"

He pointed disrespectfully at her, "Youz know the thug law--and youz brokes it. I has come to save my brother's life and reputation before you ruin it. And youz don't loves my brother like I do. I would never putz him in a dangerous, reckless situation as you have."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at his strong affirmation. "Those are two different kinds of love, Stravek: the love I share with Velak, and the love you share with him." She slid off her desk onto her feet and turned back to the window, folding her arms behind her. "I think you better reconsider what you're saying to me. Our past _involvement_ is clouding your better judgment."

"No, it isn't. It's made me more aware of the snake youz is. Youz a good captain, but a bad person." He glared. "I've come to put an end to this affair. Nothing more, nothing less. It's best this way for Velak."

Natasha concurred with a nod and turned around to face one of her best soldiers she'd raised to greatness. "Very well. You've challenged me--and I accept. I fight to keep Velak where I want him--beside me. As for you--"

Stravek smirked, bringing up a hand to stop her. "If I defeats youz, I get my brother back _and_ youz must give up commanding the Manhunters. Deal?"

A small, sly smile formed on Natasha's face. "If that's how you want it, then let's get started. We really don't have much time left because this invasion grows worse by the second. I'll _make this quick--and painful_."

Stravek prepared himself, getting into an attack pose similar to his captain's. Natasha followed suit, eying him powerfully with her sensuous eyes. They moved in closer to each other, and when their wrists finally touched, the fight for the future of Velak Thratcher began.


	17. C17: The Invasion

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Seventeen

"The Invasion"

**19:59 – Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ (The Bridge), Bogon Galaxy**

Corporal Trakgnak, a first-class brute, and his group of six highly trained and heavily armed henchmen stood in front of the massive rubble that used to be HQ's communications tower. They all knew that beneath the rubble lied their fallen compatriots--killed instantly by the collapse of the building, smothered by fire and debris: one of the invaders' ships had done this. A fiery tangerine glow washed over them, and bits of wood from the tower's structure crackled and shot up motes of ember from the remains. And despite how fast rain poured from the sky, it did little to extinguish the flames. Frequent explosions rang above and around the base as the air battles continued on all around them, a sense of revenge hardening in them, rekindling the spark of excitement--the adrenaline rush--that they'd felt when they first became a thug.

In silver chest armor, low-cut gray pants, and shoulder plates befitting his large size, Trakgnak wielded his giant energy cannon in one hand, and in the other, he gripped a small radio communicator. With a wave of his cannon, his team dispersed in all directions, seeking out to kill whatever that dared to get past them and onto the bridge. "Spreads out, men. Don't let anything gets through, and keep an eyes out for activity in those space pods. If they so much as moves, blasts them to oblivion," he ordered quickly, and then brought up the radio in hand and held down a button.

Into the communicator, he said, "Captain, the entrance to the bridge is secured, and a laser proof glass shield has been installed in place. What is your next command?" He released the button and the communicator clicked as he waited for a response from behind the walls of the base.

A familiar voice came and served as a great reassurance to the thug. "Good work, Corporal. I'll be sending in attack-copters and attack-ships to aid you and yar men, as well as Ghan's air support, to reinforce the first line. Keep in constant radio communication with Ghan, he'll know what to do," said the air captain.

Trakgnak nodded to himself, rubbing his eyes free of rain with the back of his hand. He brought up the radio to his lips one last time. "Thanks, Captain Rezabar. I'll keep youz posted on the events here. Trakgnak out." He slid the radio into its sleeve clipped on his combat belt, and then turned to face the direction of the Attack-Copter Pad, where First Lieutenant Ghan and his pilots were preparing their secondary assault in the event that Captain Rezabar's attack-ships failed to suppress the invaders.

At the attack-copter pad, Ghan was busily directing a variety of orders to his pilots, assigning each of them a specific destination outside of HQ. The red-masked, heavily built brute marched the length of the small heliport, his eyes narrowing behind his mask, into bright orange slits, every time he saw one of his pilots shot down by the invaders. Off to his right, there was an incoming attack-copter trying to escape the murderous line of fire from the enemy, but when it flew higher to correct its course, a few energy blasts disabled its tail rotor, causing the copter to go into a dangerous spin in midair. The invader ship screeched past the small heliport, past Ghan and his men, followed by the twirling attack-copter heading toward the ocean.

Unable to correct the helicopter in time, the pilot within the cockpit dared to escape by leaping out of his side door, but the helicopter's main rotors came into contact too soon with the water, its long, flat blades fragmenting into several pieces. When the attack-copter slammed into the water, an explosion erupted, creating a vivid flash over Trakgnak and the small heliport; the inferno engulfing much of the aircraft and the pilot.

Trakgnak shielded his eyes for a moment, growling in indignation. "Damnit!" he spat violently, turning around and sprinting toward the other end of the heliport. There he pushed aside one of his pilots and took over the pilot's chair, shutting himself inside. He waited for a moment before starting the helicopter's engines.

While the engines hummed to life, he pulled on a headset a pilot would wear and brought up a communicator to his mask. "Corporal, where is my backup? Has Captain Rezabar sent in reinforcements yet? Over."

Back at the bridge, Trakgnak unlatched his radio from his belt and answered, "Yes, sir. Reinforcements are on the way. And I presume youz heard him complaining about the attack-ship he lent youz."

"Good, good. I'm losing some of my best pilots out theres," returned Trakgnak, looking up through the windshield of the copter to see the conditions of the sky. A streak of lightning came down in a brilliant flash. "Yeah, I heard. Just don't tells him that the ship I borrowed has already gone up in flames. Then he'll kills me. Hehe!" he laughed, realizing his copter was ready for ascent. He continued, "I'll tells you what, Corporal. I'm on my ways. I'm going to lead the last of my men and help youz defend the bridge. We can't let the first line of defense fall. Trakgnak, over and out." The brute soughed heavily and placed the radio down in the passenger seat.

Back at headquarters, at the main heliport launch site, Captain Rezabar was taken aback by a sudden grasp of his right shoulder. He turned his head quickly and saw that it was a young henchman. Behind the young lad, a series of attack-ships were preparing to take off, all except one, which was to be used by himself.

Dressed in a tactical vest, strong, denim army pants, a pair of durable boots, and a one-piece, square combat visor which was something marksmen would wear on duty, Velak stood to attention as best as he could, albeit still drunk. In a hand, he gripped his trusty Flux Rifle. On his face, he wore a partially goofy smile, and his orange eyes beamed low and moved lazily. Rezabar gave an unimpressed look, wanting to berate the intoxicated soldier, but decided against it. Instead, he pointed a clawed finger at him, looked him up and down, and told him to climb aboard the last attack-ship.

"I see yar _almost_ ready for combat, Velak. I suggest you hurry and get aboard my ship. I know just the place for you to take position on the enemy and to defend the entire bridge," said Rezabar, gesturing for the henchman to go to the ship.

Velak gave a sloppy salute, "Yes, sir!" He hiccuped, turning around and teetering down the platform toward the last attack-ship. After seeing this drunken display, Rezabar only shook his head, gathered his pilot's helmet, and then followed the henchman.

Inside the attack-ship, with Velak sitting behind the pilot's chair, Captain Rezabar pressed a button on his dashboard to seal them inside. The canopy began closing them in together. With another press of a button, the attack-ship's engines roared, becoming charged for liftoff. Velak sat back firmly in his seat with his rifle down at his side, and looked around the interior the ship, becoming fascinated with the many lights, switches, and buttons, but dared himself not to touch any of them for fear of incensing the captain. He remained quiet in the back, listening to the many different sounds coming from the Vukovar's headset communicator.

"Captain? Captain Rezabar?" said a familiar voice, from someone Velak recognized easily in his intoxicated state. A feral smile enlarged on his face at the thought of the day's earlier encounter that special someone.

Rezabar pressed his communicator closer to his ear to hear the voice clearly. "Rezabar, here. Where have you been, Captain Natasha? I've been worried about you. Before you called, I was heading out with the rest of my force to put an end to these invaders, combining my team with Trakgnak's."

In a voice filled with melancholy, "No need to worry, sir, I had to take care of some _unfinished business_. Please do carry on without me. I will prepare the third line of defense while you're away. The ground troops will be ready at my command," she coughed suddenly, creating great concern in Rezabar and Velak.

Rezabar stared outside the window of the cockpit, noticing how the rain was beginning to come down harder like hail against the glass. "Are you all right?"

Velak edged closer behind the captain, trying to hear Natasha more closely.

"Yes, sir. I'll be fine. Tell me . . . is Velak with you?"

Rezabar nodded, "Indeed, he is. Drunk, but he's capable of doing the job I have far him. We'll be heading toward the bridge, and I'll drop him off into a sniping spot, in a place where he'll be able to defend the bridge and be out of harm's way because of his current condition."

"That's good. I wish him the best of luck. Take good care of him, Captain. Natasha, out."

"Understood. And out," replied Rezabar, who suddenly glanced over his shoulder at Velak.

The conversation ended there. Captain Rezabar gripped the flight stick of the attack-ship and pulled it back, lifting the ship off the heliport. He pressed another switch and a burst from behind the ship, its thrusters blazing a bright blue, it shot the aircraft forth at great speeds, leaving behind the landing zone in a matter of seconds.

Velak slid back into his seat in an instant, his velcro safety belts pulling him back uncomfortably. Together, they passed over the base, flying toward the bridge. A moment's glance from the side windows of the canopy, Velak saw the rest of the army taking their places, forming the third line of defense. The ground troops were getting into position just as Captain Natasha said they would.

The hum of the attack-ship's engine quieted as the ship came to a slow flight just to the left of the bridge, beside one of the two towering super structures. While holding the flight stick steady, Rezabar positioned the ship close enough, and then motioned his head over a shoulder to Velak.

He gave the order, "Velak, here is yar sniper spot. Make good use of it and try not to fall off."

Rezabar held the ship's control with a hand and used the other to engage the controls for the canopy. It slid open with a quick hiss and rain came quickly down on them. Velak slung his rifle over his shoulder, climbed out of the ship, and leapt onto the top structure of the bridge, turning around to bid the captain farewell.

"Captain--" he began, but stopped when the captain silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"Remember, _defend_ the bridge, _defend_ the base. I'll return to get you should the first and second defense lines fall," was all the captain said before shutting the canopy and flying off to join his men in air combat.

Velak watched the captain's ship join in the fray, with a mixture of quadruple helix energy cannon fire from the attack-copters and laser energy cannons from the neighboring attack-ships. The enemy star explorers returned rapid fire of blue, dual incandescent lasers. Not wanting to waste any more time, the henchman carefully got into position atop the bridge where he could get a critical vantage point at the beginning and end of the bridge; his only blind spot being beneath him. He pulled off his sniper rifle from his shoulder, slid off its stabilizer, pieced it together, and then positioned the rifle on it. He laid on his stomach and peered through the advanced scope attached to the weapon, assessing the situation in front of the bridge with Trakgnak and his men.

Within the halls of the Manhunters building, Captain Natasha walked sluggishly against a side wall with her injured right shoulder, smearing a trail of blood behind her. She gripped her left forearm where she had been cut, as evident by a few claw marks, but she walked on ignoring the pain smiting the top right part of her ear, a part of it missing. It proved difficult to see with a swollen eye, but she had managed to keep moving for this far and this long; she wasn't about to succumb to weariness, not yet. She still had a job to do.

Back at her office, a couple of halls down, a scaly hand reached up to clutch the turned over office desk, bearing down on it with its black claws. A beaten and bloodied figure rose sorely, but it breathed nonetheless. It was Stravek. He groaned and flinched every time he tried to move more than he should while climbing to his feet pitifully. But once he managed to stand again, looking out the broken office window and realizing what was going on outside after his previous unconsciousness, he turned to leave the room.

He stumbled out into the hall and slammed into a wall, holding his chest with an arm. A few of his ribs were broken, but he wasn't about to let that stop him, so he continued onward noticing bloody signs of Natasha's trying escape. In his mind, he kept saying to himself that he hadn't lost the battle because she hadn't killed him--that was her biggest mistake. It was no longer a battle between captain and friend, or captain and subordinate, but between two former lovers: if he couldn't have her, no one would--not even his brother.

He painfully carried on down the halls after her, hoping he would catch up to her before she could request help from someone outside of the building, from a guard or an officer, to have him arrested, or worse, possibly executed. And if that was the case, he told himself he would have to kill everyone and everything that stood in his way, between him and the _snake_. Captain Natasha wasn't someone to be kept in the thug order, and especially not after her corrupt ways of alluring young soldiers for her every whim.

The general of the thug army stood outside of the main governing building, the soaring, multileveled complex of unprecedented height, descending the many stairs and addressing new orders to the present thugs who all would make up the third line of defense. He gripped one of his gigantic blades in one hand and swayed it in whatever direction he wanted a set number of thugs to go in, the heavy blade itself creating a menacing sound as it cut through the air and rain. Left and right, hundreds of thugs took their positions as given to them; and, by the time the thug leader finished giving a new batch of orders, he reached the last stair step and touched ground on the main street overlooking the barracks, the cantina, and the plaza. He turned to sky and saw that the invasion wasn't really go anywhere.

"Here you go, sir," said a thug beside the general, serving as radio specialist. "I've patched youz through to the first line of defense coordinator. He is awaiting your order."

The general snatched the communicator headset from the henchman and spoke into it, not bothering to slid the whole thing on, and on the back of a henchman, an enlarged speaker module returned the responses. "This is the general, speaking . . . activate the base's chain guns, plasma turrets, and anti-aircraft missiles."

A voice filled with uncertainty and reason responded to the order. "But sir, won't we's hit some of our own men?"

The general growled, "You have your order! Do it!"

"Y-y-yes, sir!"

On the tail of one of the enemy fighters, Captain Rezabar prepared to fire when a blast rocked his attack-ship. "Whoa, whoa! What the . . . ?" he yelled. He pressed down on a button on the right of his pilot's helmet to channel his headset. "Lieutenant Ghan? Come in."

"Yes, Captain? Coming up and flying on your side."

Rezabar turned to his right and saw the lieutenant in an attack-copter. "Did you see that? I was just hit by something. Was it one of yours?"

Ghan shook his head. "I wouldn't know, sir. But . . ."--he glanced to the right of his helicopter and arched an eyebrow--"sir, it's the base's automated defenses. They're firing at us!"

Rezabar scowled. "It's the general's doing. He probably wants to end this air raid as soon as possible."

"If that's the case, should we's pull back and gets out of the way?"

"Yes, pull your people out. Rezabar out." He opened another channel to his team. "Captain Rezabar, here, all attack-ships return to base and defend. Let the base's defenses do the rest."

Rezabar veered his ship away from the enemy fighter he'd been tailing and began flying toward the bridge, passing beneath it and creating waves of water on both sides of his aircraft. Moments later, nine of his ships disengaged battle and followed him. Ghan's men followed a similar procedure, heading toward the right of the base and making up an aerial defense line. Altogether, ships and copters formed another kind of defense perimeter around the base, swarming about like hornets around their nest. Enemy ships were left to their own devices while some of them were unable to avoid the base's defenses, being blown apart by turret fire.

At the front of the bridge, Trakgnak moved in cautiously toward a few cone-shaped, chrome-colored space pods that were conveniently positioned beside each other. For a moment, he thought he had seen one move, but he assumed his imagination was playing tricks on him. He held his weapon ready at the closest one, stealing quick glimpses of where the rest of his team were in the area.

The center pod hissed open, releasing an endless, sultry stream of white steam which startled the brute. The steam immediately concealed the area in a thick fog, hampering Trakgnak and his team. In response, he fired blindly toward the pods. Compelled to do the same, the rest of his team followed his example until one by one a member's firing stopped completely.

From atop the bridge, Velak zoomed in on the scene, but could only see energy blasts cutting through the thick fog and leaving it. "What's goin' on down theres?"

Suddenly, Trakgnak was the only one firing. He began shouting into his communicator. "Captain! Captain! We have movement in the space pods."

Captain Rezabar was still airborne above the base by the time he received the frantic message from Trakgnak. "Corporal? Corporal!"

Velak motioned his rifle away from where Trakgnak and his team were over to a more remote area away from the bridge. On a piece a land half a mile away from where the communications tower used to stand, there was a parked space fighter; its pilot, nowhere in sight.

Captain Rezabar tried contacting Natasha, but grew increasingly in alarm at the shabox's disappearance. "Where is she? Something has happened to her," he said silently to himself and began circulating the base, coming up toward the Manhunters building. He hovered above the building and looked outside through the canopy of his attack-ship, trying to see if he could spot her on the streets. There still wasn't any sign of her.

Captain Natasha fell forward, catching herself on the doors of the entrance to the Manhunters building. She looked behind her, scared that _he_ would appear to finish what he started. Not waiting a second more, she quickly straightened herself up, gathered her composure, and walked outside onto the streets. She feigned to walk in a casual gait, but she still moved as if she were in great pain. She brisked through the streets, trying to get to a crowded area where she could assume command and be within the safety of her troops. She turned a corner and the explosiveness of the base's plasma cannons knocked her back. She covered her ears and tried to rise up once more.

She trailed back a minute and tried going down an alleyway between the barracks and cantina, where no one would see her just yet. Behind her, she heard footsteps and whirled around in fright, but no one was there. The rain came down and cleaned her nicely, but it also made her cold and stiff. She stretched her hands out to feel the walls behind the two buildings, using them as her guide through the partial darkness as her vision became blurred because of the rain. Again, she turned around when she heard some more footsteps.

"Who is there?" she called behind her, but didn't receive an answer.

The plaza wasn't too far away now. Natasha trudged on in her weakened state, becoming hopeful of making it to her command post. When she reached the end of the alleyway, she paused for a moment before coming out into the open, and smiled.

"I made it . . . ." she whispered, and then took another step forward.

She shrieked when a pair of hands seized her by the shoulders and pulled her back into the darkness of the alleyway. The shabox fell back against a masculine chest, and she feared to look up and see who it was. The pair of hands spun her around so she could face their owner. She gazed up weakly, looking bedraggled.

"Stravek? You just don't know when you've lost, do you, _lizard_?" she said in her usual, cool and collected voice.

"No, I won't. That's why I'm the best, _furball_," he said before forcing her into a brick wall and restraining her there by the wrists. She gasped.

The shabox panted, "What do you want now? You want to _kill_ me? Get rid of me?"

He collared her with his strong hand, wanting to choke the life out of her. "I won't kill youz. Youz going to do that all by yourself."

"Then let me go. I've got to get the ground forces on the move. We can always _discuss_,"--she motioned her paws down his chest--"these things later on, after we take care of this invasion."

She insulted his intelligence by touching him in that manner, so he increased the pressure around her throat, to the point where she had to reach up and clutch his hand, but he tightened the hold even more. He took pleasure in watching her suffer; and how her eyes welled up and made her look innocent when she really wasn't.

"_Don't_ do that ever again or I _will_ kill you," he growled in her face most viciously, breathing hot, smelly breaths and showing his bloodstained fangs, which were wet with hers. He released her, letting her fall to his knees.

In a more sadistic tone, she muttered, "I _really_,_ really _don't have time for this . . . ." His clawed feet walked off, toward the other end of the alley, and disappeared.

Natasha rose again, rubbing her throbbing neck. She looked back in the direction which he'd come and gone, but said nothing else. A part of her was grateful that he had spared her, but another part of her wanted to seek revenge on him. But . . . there was something else she had to do that was more important than straightening out the mess she had gotten herself into between two brothers and soldiers. She stepped out into the open and approached the plaza, where hundreds of her troops waited.

When they saw her, they froze in place. All of them were in absolute disbelief of how horrible she looked, and many of them began to wonder what had happened to her. They watched attentively as she got into position in front of them, turned around, and raised her arm to give the order to move out.

Natasha lowered her arm, "Move out! Third line of defense, form a perimeter before the bridge, on the bridge, I want armored tanks moved into place. Create a defense line at every junction of this base--leave no place unprotected."


	18. C18: The Machines

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Eighteen

"The Machines"

**20:02 – Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ, Bogon Galaxy**

"Ahhhh! Ahhh!" came over Captain Rezabar's headset, the voice belonging to Trakgnak. When he heard this, his heart raced and many horrific thoughts filled his mind.

He tried communicating with the corporal, "Corporal? Corporal?" but there wasn't an answer.

The captain slowly flew his ship toward the plaza, hovering there and noticing large movements of thugs spreading throughout the scarcer regions of the base, the many of them armed with heavy weaponry. From the warehouses, shutters electronically opened and out rolled enhanced versions of Megacorp tanks. As a couple of these monstrous machines on wheels clattered down the streets, toward the entrance of the base and the ending of the bridge, teams of brutes and elite henchmen followed closely.

There was a brilliant flash as the last of the invaders' space fighters met its end, reduced to nothing more than wreckage set ablaze, plummeting toward the ocean like a burning rosette. The base's defenses deactivated, its chain guns twirling slowly to a halt and smoking from the ends of their barrels. Plasma turrets ceased coalescing another beam of energy while the anti-aircraft missiles retracted into their slots, being sealed thereafter.

A sudden thought came to the air captain.

He sent a new order to his pilots, "Attack-ships, two in sector one, three in sector two. The rest of you, return to the heliport."--he switched over to another channel--"Lieutenant . . . "

The brute lieutenant turned his head to gaze through the window of his attack-copter from his heliport to find the captain's attack-ship, seeing that several of the captain's men were returning to the heliport. "Sir?" he called back.

"Have you received any additional orders from Captain Natasha?"

"No sir, but I see that she's obviously around if the mobile force has already been deployed."

"I see. Well, I'll be acting on har behalf and taking charge. Return these attack-copters back to the launch pad and defend the beginning of the bridge. With the loss of communication with Trakgnak and his team, the enemy is already on the move. There is only one way of getting into HQ and that's the bridge. We can't afford any mistakes."

"Understood," said Ghan, switching over to a radio channel to address his group. "All attack-copters return to the heli-pad. We've orders to defend the bridge. Move out."

Tranquility filled the scene before the bridge, the smog created by the space pods rising ever so slowly, showing a small part of the area. The tumultuous thunderstorm calmed, producing steady sprinkles of rain. Red nimbostratus clouds distended over the bridge and continued toward the base with small internal flashes of lightning, threatening with sporadic claps of thunder. Velak Thratcher gazed into the tactical scope of his rifle to the first several feet of the bridge, in a place he could see the center beginning toward it, but there was nothing to see within the remnants of the smoke. Suddenly, a diminutive form outlined the front of the clouds, becoming a discernible shape that all new thugs had been taught to loathe.

The wisp of the form emerged a bit more, inching toward the clearing. Velak didn't know what to think or how to react, but he continued watching with a fierce wariness and keeping a twitchy finger on the trigger of his rifle.

"Who or what are in those pods?" he thought aloud and breathed hard, a few tendrils of hot breath billowing from his small nostrils. The elevating sounds of twirling rotors on approach made him look over his shoulder and at a series of attack-copters passing over him, heading in the direction of the heliport outside headquarters.

All but one attack-copter slowed to a hover near him as if the pilot had suddenly noticed him. The helicopter moved in close to him, within yelling distance, and then the cockpit slid backwards, opening and revealing Lieutenant Ghan. There was a hint of a smile on the brute's face as he reached down beside him and revealed a small communicator. He held it in his big hand when he spoke.

"I thought I saw some thing or one hidden up here. What are youz doing up here, Velak? Do you have a communicator?" Ghan inquired, smiling at last.

Thratcher turned away from his rifle and stood up into a crouch, being careful to watch his balance atop the super structure of the bridge. The rain had doused him, his clothes hugging tight to his small frame. His eyes glowed dimly, a sign that he was more drunk than weary.

"Captain Rezabar assigned me's to this s-spot," he said. "And no, I don't has a communicator. I don't even knows what the hell is going on around here. Ships was blowing up all arounds me. I just knows I has to guard this bridge, no matter what." He gestured with a hand.

Ghan gave a nod. "I see. Very well, keep watch of this bridge and be prepared to take down any enemy that you sees down below,"--he tossed the henchman the communicator--"and take my radio, the captain is on the first channel."

Velak nearly missed catching the communicator, but somehow managed to snatch it out of the air with two of his fingers. He stared down at it, his vision repeatedly blurring. He turned back to his rifle and sat down, sliding the communicator into a breast pocket and rubbing his eyes in agitation. To his side, the lieutenant sealed himself inside his helicopter and began to pull away when his ship exploded.

The henchman was taken aback by this and fell on to his side, watching as one of the helicopter's broken blades swept past him, narrowly nicking his face. The helicopter split in halves as it began its slow descent toward the water beneath the bridge. Velak got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the edge of his platform, trying to see the rest of the helicopter and if the lieutenant had survived--no body or signs of a possible ejection. And when the helicopter finally struck the surface of the water with a big splash, its bright flames lit the area where the bridge's supports would be. In the illumination, he saw metallic beings scaling the bridge and some rising from the depths of the ocean in staggering numbers.

He quickly turned around and ripped at his chest for the communicator. Once it was in his hand, he pressed down a button and spat into it, hoping to reach Captain Rezabar.

Desperation filled his voice as he shouted into the communicator, "Captain Rezabar? Captain! We has invaders on the bridge! No!--beneath it. They're coming in large numbers all overs me."

Back at the beginning of the bridge, a form dressed in Infernox clad materialized from the fog; behind him, a dozen robotic menaces, all bearing semblance of varying anthropomorphic androids with razor sharp claws for hands, a scythe for tails, pointed ears like some Bogonian beasts, and mouths full of ridiculously carnivorous fangs. These machines were no taller than a brute, roughly the size of a henchman. Compared to their leader in front of them, they easily dwarfed him.

At HQ, Captain Rezabar's eyes broadened considerably after hearing the voice of Velak. Almost immediately, his face hardened with contempt; his lips curling tight around the edges of his mouth.

"Velak! What are you doing on _this_ channel? Just listen to yarself! Are you sure you're not just imagining things?" Rezabar blared back, looking out from his ship, being more than a mile away from the bridge.

"Sir, please listens to me . . ." Velak stroked his forehead, turning back to see the front of the bridge. "Oh no! No, no! It's him!"

"_Him_ who?"

At the end of the bridge, Captain Natasha listened in on the conversation. She paced back and forth in a slow manner, with one hand behind her back, and with the other she held a small radio. Her fur was still marred--obfuscated--with blood. On her sides, standing ready with their weapons drawn down the length of the bridge, were two of her elite guards eavesdropping as well.

Velak paused for a moment before saying the dreaded name of the entire thug army. "_Ratchet_, sir. He's back and with a lot of his buddies--machines."

Velak heard the air captain growl low into the radio. "You don't know what yar talking about! You're drunk out of your a--"

Captain Natasha interjected in Velak's defense, her voice sounding firm and full of resolve. "Rezabar! Will you just listen to him."

Rezabar soughed resignedly in the cockpit of his attack-ship.

"Natasha," they said softly in unison.

"I put my faith in Velak, Captain, even if _you_ don't. I believe him. If he says the invader is Ratchet, then it's the lombax. Now send out your attack-ships to impede the enemy's progress,"--she turned to face the front of the bridge--"and as for you, Velak, stay where you are and surprise the enemy. Take out as many as you can. Maybe you can find some sort of weakness in these machines. Get to it."

She lowered the communicator at her side and sighed heavily. "And so, _he_ returns. You won't escape this time, Ratchet," she said to herself, and then turned to her guards. "Boys, head on out and give the enemy a big welcome party." She watched as they turned around and saluted, and then she walked away, traveling down a main street toward the plaza where the rest of her troops were. Behind them stood the Thug Leader with his massive arms folded and a smug look on his face. Armored tanks that were formerly Megacorp's, but now enhanced with thug weaponry, wheeled in single file onto the bridge, being followed by the elite guards and a small group of alike thugs.

The armored lombax approached the bridge with an extreme air of superiority. He wore a mask in likeness with his powerfully nanotech-charged battle suit. His red and black commando armor had been crafted to cover every inch of his body: his big, pointed leaflike ears, his Veldian face, and his fur-patched stripped tail. The inverted, triangular glow of his visor and chest plates shone brightly in the night. On the nether side of his forearms, where his metallic, gloves extended around, sharp fore blades extended in a deadly crescent; and on his shoulder plates, short, stubby spikes guarded him there. At his midsection, metal rings had been welded together in sequence, forming formidable protection of his abdomen. Large and thick boots protected his feet; the ankles looking more like big bolts than anything else. The lombax was a fine example of science and technology blended together.

A few attack-copters, some of Trakgnak's men, flew past the group of invaders, slowly turning around and getting into an attack formation. In response, the lombax pointed a finger at each of the helicopters. And not a moment later, one of the machines beside him aimed a large rocket launcher at one and fired. It rapid succession, it emptied the launcher before the first missile had a chance to reach the first copter. One by one, the rockets swirled in the air at an incredible speed and honed in on their targets, and slammed into each attack-copter without so much of any resistance.

When the flaming attack-copters dropped from the sky like rubble, the lombax and his machines began their march toward the bridge. At first, he began in a steady pace, but broke out into a quick gait; the gait becoming a charge. The lombax reached over a shoulder for something of a weapon on his back and retrieved it, bringing it forth. In his hand, he held what appeared to be a small baton, but after pushing a button to activate the device, it transformed into a seriously dangerous Omniwrench--one of considerable modification, for it was larger than the original tool and weapon, painted all black with red stripes.

High above the bridge, Velak quickly took aim and motioned his reticle onto the eccentric lombax. When he thought he had a lock, he pulled the trigger, his rifle splitting the air with an explosion. To his greatest surprise, the lombax looked upward and brought up his wrench, blocking the high caliber round.

Velak's face turned into a stupefied look. "What the hell? That's not possible!"

The lombax quickly passed beneath him and continued down the length of the bridge, about to reach new resistance at its middle. Three tanks welcomed the invaders, firing an endless stream of charged energy in the form of oblong disks before they even reached them. The machines swerved from their course while their leader remained in the middle, running at speeds not possible for a regular person, becoming something of an afterimage.

Behind the mask, the lombax's visor showed a complex readout of calculations of potential threats, dangers, and processes of maneuverability, charting the most advantageous courses of action to avoid damage to the battle suit system. In immediacy, the image of the tanks were growing close really fast. With a well-timed long jump, the lombax leapt effortlessly over the tanks and landed behind them, continuing his journey toward the Thugs-4-Less HQ.

Unable to turn around and stop the lombax, the drivers inside the tanks concentrated all of their fire on the machines left behind. Unable to get a single shot on the machines, their stray rounds began crippling the super structures of the bridge, causing the long, flowing chain links on each end of the bridge to shake. The machines finally met with the tanks and swarmed the scene, climbing on them and using their claws to tear into them, peeling back large chunks of iron and steel.

Velak quickly positioned his Flux Rifle around and prepared to fire onto the machines tearing the tanks asunder. But when he zoomed in on the scene, it was already too late. The machines pulled the thugs from their tanks and easily severed them with so much as a powerful swipe of their claws. While others were torn apart, killed in a merciless, crazed frenzy, others died from the explosions of a small rocket. Despite the terrible loss of these soldiers, the henchman aimed at a machine and fired at its back.

The machine fired upon felt the ping at its back, but it remained unscathed. Miraculous as it seemed, the machine turned its head and looked up to where the round originated, and spotted the thug. It uttered a screeching growl and dashed off toward the side of the bridge, beginning to climb up the super structure.

"Shit!" Velak cursed, picking up his rifle and trying to aim it straight down at the machine coming up toward him.

"Here comes Ratchet!" warned an elite thug henchman to his compatriots, taking aim with his Thrasher Cannon and firing without any hint of stopping.

The lombax's visor glowed a magnificent orange, striking fear into the hearts of the thugs in front of him. He came into a skid in front of them with his Omniwrench ready and performed a multi-strike, which disarmed one thug, knocked another off his feet, and smashed the head of the other--killing him in an instant. The thug without a weapon scrambled for his, but met his end with the tip of the Omniwrench when it came down from a hyper-strike. The remaining thug, a brute, who had been knocked down began backing away on his tail, firing a couple of shots at the lombax. His shots missed the lombax as the Veldinian turned his head to look at him. He climbed to his feet and turned around, prepared to run when a fast comet-strike attack smashed into the back of his helmet, obliterating it to hundreds of pieces. The thug dropped to his feet--dead.

The Omniwrench returned to its owner, and then the lombax resumed his fast gait toward the end of the bridge.

The resistance at the end of the bridge fired heavily at the lombax. Their weapons scorched the lombax's chest plate black, but it didn't seem their weapons were even powerful enough to cause any tremendous damage. As the lombax grew closer to them, a group of twenty thugs stormed the bridge after him with their weapons drawn. When they fired a barrage of energy blasts at him, it had a slight effect on the lombax; it slowed him down, bringing him to a walk.

In the lombax's visor, it rattled greatly, preventing him from seeing what was going on around him. In an effort to escape, he leapt high into the air toward the group. When he came down, he crushed a thug beneath his boots, and then returned to the air, leaping quickly off the helmets of the nearest thug as if they were jumpslots. In a matter of several seconds, the lombax got past the thugs and reached the end of the bridge. One of the thugs brought up a radio to his mask.

"Captain Rezabar, Captain Natasha. The second line has failed to holds back the invaders. The bridge is overrun with robots. Ratchet is entering the base!"

Captain Rezabar closed his eyes for a moment and pinched between them, feeling an imminent headache. Without sighing, he pressed forward on his flight stick and flew in toward the front of the base, pressing a couple of switches to arm his attack-ship's triple helix plasma cannons and photon missiles.

"And so, it has come down to this . . . ." was all he said. He then heard multiple screams through his headset communicator. They came so many to the point he had to rip off the headset from his head.

The machines had finally climbed onto the roadbed of the bridge from its substructure and joined in the battle against the many thugs at the end of the bridge.

Stationed at the plaza with hundreds of her troops, Captain Natasha saw the raging battle several hundred meters from the center of the base. The cries of the thugs already in battle stroked fear in the hearts of the others, who weren't sure what they'd be up against. For all they knew from the rumors between radio chatter, Ratchet was back, but they didn't know why he'd return to wage war on them.

Natasha turned around and stared at the general from afar. He gave her a nod, another one of his ways of giving silent orders. She brought up a second radio communicator and spoke into it.

"Activate the force field generators," she ordered, waiting and looking slowly around the plaza, at every junction of each road where the force field generators were, built into the sides of buildings. They served as the last line of defense.

Not a moment too late, she heard the generators coming online with a deep sibilation. Blue orbs appeared at the sockets of each generator, charging with spectacular vividity, and cast a navy tinge around the corners of each street. When fully charged, a whir accompanied a large, rectangular projection, creating an impregnable sheet of energy. By the time the generators closest to the entrance from the bridge came on, the barrier stopped the lombax in his tracks, forcing him back several feet after having run into it. His armor sparkled with electricity in conflict with the force field's. Behind him, a final energy field separated him from his machines. There was no way of getting around the force field.

"There he is," said one of the thugs near Captain Natasha. This created a stir among the crowd already filled with tension and nervousness.

"Be silent!" demanded a familiar voice that made many heads sway in his direction. Natasha even turned in surprise.

She studied the Manhunter, "You're back, Stravek." She _almost_ smiled, but remembered they were on antagonistic terms. "And I see you've brought along your Thrasher Cannon."

The Snivelakian smirked. "Always, _Captain_," he hissed quietly. He made his way toward her and stood beside her, facing the direction of the bridge. Although he did not look at her, he could feel that her eyes were on him.

"I sees Ratchet has returned. This time he won't escape," he said with great conviction. At this, his captain raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you think he _wants_ to?"

He said suddenly, "Where is my brother? Somewhere safe, I hopes?"

"I don't think anywhere is safe now," she added. "Look atop there . . ." she pointed, "he's up there."

"I sees. Well, I don't knows about you, but I'm ready for some action," he began walking forward, causing a large commotion among the troops. "Sorry about your ear, Captain," he said as he stopped for a moment without glancing back.

A sheepish smile appeared on the shabox's face. "And I'm sorry about your ribs."

He chuckled and continued on, stopping a couple of seconds when pain erupted in his chest. His fractured ribs were proving to be a nuisance as he walked.

At the other end of the plaza, the lombax studied the force field generators on the other side of the energy projection. He was thinking of another way to get past it. He looked at where the generators were--on the buildings. Then he put his idea into play. He disengaged his Omniwrench, locked into place on his back, and then walked toward a building that was out of the thugs' sight behind the barriers. At a wall of a building, he looked at his metal, clawed fingers and motioned each of them while looking up at the wall.

In one strike, he sent his fist into the thick brick wall, and then the other, beginning the process again until he saw that he was climbing successfully. His sharp fingers dug into the wall and gripped large pieces inside it for which to hold on to. Immensely strong as he was, he scaled the wall and reached the top of the building, remaining out of sight. From rooftop to rooftop, he leapt quickly across each, drawing closer to the rest of the thug army. Suddenly, a missile struck where he landed on the next building, throwing him off it.

In a flip in midair, he came down in the square some distance away from the rest of the thug army, his armor smoking from the explosion. A second later, bits of rock began pelting his armor. He looked up and saw an attack-ship hovering toward him, preparing to fire its energy cannons.

Stravek Thratcher drew his weapon on the lombax and fired. Secondly, Captain Rezabar held down a button on his flight stick and fired an endless succession of energy fire down on the lombax, tearing up the street. Together, they managed to send the lombax staggering back, nearly knocking him off his feet. His chest plate smoked greatly from the burns of the attack-ship's helix energy cannons.

"We have you now, _lombax_," said Captain Rezabar as he pulled another trigger and fired a pair of photon missiles.

The large missiles found their mark near the lombax's feet, and the fiery explosion scooped him off his feet. The lombax came down and tumbled across the street, smacking into a side wall of a building, leaving his impression in it. Once they saw that the lombax was down and weakened, they fired endlessly at him, blanketing him in fiery smoke and flames.

When the air captain and the Manhunters ceased firing, Captain Natasha waved her hand forward, sending in her troops to finish the lombax off. "Troops, move out! Kill that lombax for good _this time_."

The legion of thugs raced down the plaza toward where the lombax fell, shouting battle cries as they closed in on him. Behind them, their captain remained behind and watched closely. In passing, Stravek began running back in the opposite direction, returning to his captain with a broad smile on his face. Before he reached her, she heard a radio transmission from both the air captain and the general.

"Harhar! Do you think he's finally dead?"

"Captains, good work."

The general descended the stairs of the main governing building and sauntered to her. In the air, Captain Rezabar flew off toward the bridge, remembering about Velak. The rest of the army came to a stand still in front of the dust cloud where they'd last seen the lombax and waited patiently. They kept their various weapons ready.


	19. C19: Hostile Takeover

**A NEW BEGINNING**

Chapter Nineteen

"Hostile Takeover"

**20:57 – Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ (Plaza), Bogon Galaxy**

The general of the Thugs-4-Less army descended the stairs of the main governing building and sauntered to Captain Natasha. In the air, remembering about Velak, Captain Rezabar turned his attack-ship to face the bridge and flew off in that direction. The rest of the army came to a stand still before the dust cloud where they'd last seen the lombax fall and waited patiently. They kept their various weapons ready.

Back on the bridge, Velak smacked his assailant with the butt of his Flux Rifle, parrying the machine off of him. When the machine tottered dangerously close to the edge of the super structure, Velak aimed his weapon hastily and fired a round into its chest, causing it to fall off the top of the bridge. He moved toward the edge and peered down with weapon in hand, seeing the machine smash into the roadbed far below, but only hop back onto its feet and look back up at him. This time, however, it alerted the others with a strange shrill, five more running to its aid. They all stared up at the thug left alive on the bridge.

"Just my luck!" Velak said as he aimed and shot one of the machines in the head, knocking it on its back.

In unison, from the roadbed the machines began climbing up the bridge's super structures and the rails. Velak looked around for an alternate means of escape, but his choices were limited to taking a swim in the polluted waters of Snivelak or to leap to the closest railing, a thick steel bar that he assumed to be more than fifty feet away. He decided against both options and believed he had a better chance of fighting the machines where he stood. Another shrill from one of the machines told him that they were getting closer to him, so he readied his rifle, stepped back toward the middle of platform, and waited for the first sighting of a robotic face.

For a moment, there was nothing at the edges around him as he swiveled, keeping guard at every angle. Then suddenly, one of them leapt high into the air from a corner and came down in front of him. It approached aggressively with his clawed fingers twiddling, its mechanical jaws gnashing with sparks, and its eyes gleaming red. A second machine leapt onto the platform from behind; metal, retractable, clawed feet tapping evilly. Velak exchanged stares at each, trying to figure out which of the two he would attack first.

Without any warning, the one from behind lurched forth with its claws ready, jumping toward him with its clawed foot coming down in a swift, diagonal slash. Velak whirled around to parry off the first attack of the machine's hands with the length of his rifle, but the machine's foot managed to slice along the inner part of his right thigh, causing him to kneel in great pain.

"Ahssst!" he cried in a hiss, feeling the burning sting on his thigh, where he perceptibly guessed a gash had been created. He rose back to his feet in time to elude another attack from behind, using his back to force the machine back.

With his rifle clutched tightly in both hands, he dipped beneath another frontal attack from one of the machines and again swung the butt of his rifle at the closest one to him, knocking it off balance by tripping one of its legs from under it. He charged the machine in front with his shoulder and knocked it off the the bridge. From behind, he heard another manic cry and turned around to block another attack from another machine. At his feet, four more machines climbed up to the platform.

"What are youz things?" he said behind clenched teeth, turning and using an assaultive machine's momentum against it, making it run off the bridge as well.

He lifted a boot as one of the others endeavored to cut at his pant leg. He moved back, allowing the machines to finish their ascent. They crawled on top of the platform and looked at each other for a moment as if deciding who would be the one to get the kill. Velak gnawed his nether lip, contemplating whether or not to leap from the bridge to escape a gruesome fate. Then gunfire ripped through the machines, forcing a couple of them off the platform. When he looked up, he saw that it was Captain Rezabar in his attack-ship.

Not waiting for the machines to recover, he went into a sprint and leapt far as he could toward the attack-ship, grabbing onto its skids. For a moment, he dangled by the arm and almost dropped his rifle if it weren't for its strap tangled around his left wrist. Once Rezabar felt a slight shake, he pulled away from the bridge and flew them back to base where it was safe.

In his headset communicator, the air captain heard the great relief in the soldier's voice. "Thanks, Captain! I was beginning to thinks you'd forgotten about me up there on the bridge."

The captain grinned a little. "I almost did, Velak. I almost did."

Velak slid his communicator back into his breast pocket and began climbing fully onto the skid, sitting on it while holding on one end of it with a hand and the other, onto his rifle.

When the smoke cleared, there was nothing but rubble piled in excess atop the allegedly defeated lombax. There wasn't any sign of the lombax--anywhere. In the side of the building, he left his indentation in the wall, but nothing more. Only the bravest of thugs went in to investigate, removing the rubble piece by piece in search for an answer to the whereabouts of Ratchet.

Captain Natasha saw this and gave a quizzical look at Stravek. "There is a problem, Thratcher."

"What problem? The lombax is _no more_ . . . I hopes he's buried alive under all of that armor."

Behind them, the general stood silently still, overlooking the situation in front of them. They turned to glance at him.

"General, we're waiting for the men to confirm that Ratchet is dead," said Natasha."

The thug leader cocked an eyebrow when he saw her deplorable condition. "And what happened to _you's_?" He placed a big hand on her shoulder and stared down at her.

Natasha shot Stravek a look. "Oh, nothing much. Nothing at all."

A cheer from one of the thugs brought them to attention. They'd finally discovered the lombax, pulling his limp and heavy form by his arms from the debris. It took six to seven thugs to lift the lombax to his feet. The biggest of the bunch carried the lombax by each of his shoulders and dragged his feet along the street, bringing him toward the front of the plaza where Captain Natasha, Stravek, and the general waited.

The lombax's armored helmet didn't glow as it had done so brightly before, and it was cracked along the sides, showing a blackness inside. His armor was badly damaged, his shoulders plates missing a few pieces. The rest of him, his chest plate and chassis remained intact.

While being dragged along, followed closely behind by a mob of thugs, one of the brutes carrying the lombax thought he'd seen one of the lombax's fingers move, but he simply ignored the thought of anyone or anything capable of surviving such an ordeal.

When they brought the lombax within several feet of the general, Captain Natasha was the first to speak. "What's the matter, private? Does the lombax weigh more than you?" she joked, staring the brute in the eyes.

The brute look up, "Ma'ma, he weighs like a _ton_. It's got to be all of this armor he has on. He's got to be incredibly strong to even move in it."

Natasha nodded. When Stravek heard _ton_, it made him suspicious of the lombax and skeptical of what he had said earlier about him. He had run into the lombax before and didn't remember the lombax ever being described as a heavyset person. More than anything, the lombax was too short and small in size to be _heavy--_at all.

To reassure himself, he said, "Brute, let's see his face. Remove the mask."

Captain Natasha gave a nod to the brute as he looked up at her for the order, and then motioned his head for another thug to do the honors. A henchman came round from the back of them, stood in front of small group holding the lombax, and placed his hands on the sides of the helmet. He studied it for a moment to see how it worked. He gripped the sides hard as he could, pressing down on what he thought were release clips, and tried pulling the helmet upward; but the helmet didn't budge.

Natasha's eyes narrowed a little. "What's the matter now?"

The henchman's face became contorted, wrought with confusion. "It won't come off. It's as if it's--attached--to the armor."

One of the lombax's arms moved slightly, scaring the same thug who had thought the Veldin were alive. Again, he said nothing, returning his stare to the front of the group.

"Someone pry that damned thing off," ordered the general. "Blow his head off if you have to. I want to make sure he bleeds."

Once more, the lombax's hand moved. This time, the same thug kept his eyes on the lax lombax, watching the Veldin's hands with undivided attention. Stravek saw this and followed his gaze, waiting to see something happen himself. Captain Natasha turned to look at her Manhunter operative, a part of her feeling rejuvenated than before. She flashed him a small smile.

"It's over, Stravek. Today, we thugs have won." She slapped his shoulder in a friendly manner. "Shall we make amends and discuss what happens to your brother now?"

He rudely quieted her by placing a finger on her lips. "_Quiet_. Look there," he pointed toward the lombax's hand. "He's not quite dead."

Natasha motioned her head away from his finger and to where he stared with deep concentration. The general behind them did the same, unfolding his arms and clearing his throat quietly. The lombax's hand moved a bit more than it did before, and then his other hand curled its fingers. The thug in front of him lifted his head and peeked inside the orifices made into the helmet's visor.

"That's strange, I can't see anything inside. Not even his ey--" a cold, gloved hand reached up and gripped the thug by the throat. With a simple twist, there was a snap, and then the thug fell dead where he stood.

In fright, the brutes handling the lombax suddenly released him onto his feet. Behind the visor, the lombax's visual returned fully, but only parts of it was showing signs of damage, charred to imperfection, flickering its advanced display.

"He's not dead! Kill him! Now!" barked Stravek.

The legion knew the lombax was unarmed and so they charged him all at once, tackling and pinning him in a big pile. Thirty some bodies compiled atop the lombax. Surprise filled in the eyes of Natasha, Stravek, and the general when the bodies on top began sliding off. Beneath the biggest thugs, the lombax hefted seven on his shoulders, rising slowly to his knees. When he mustered enough strength, he threw back the pile as if they were bean bags.

"What the . . .?" said a thug near the seemingly unconquerable lombax. "He's been taking _nanroids_ or something since our last encounter."

Too astonished to react, the thugs watched as the lombax advanced the general in slowness with its visor gleaming several times.

Natasha pointed to ten of the closest thugs and ordered them to apprehend the lombax believed to be Ratchet. "You, you, and you . . ." she continued saying, "take down Ratchet."

From the sides, one by one, a thug leapt for the tackle, but a fist sent them flying back like rag dolls. Whenever a group would try to take down the lombax, with some of them being dragged along by his legs, the lombax would spread out his arms and shake off the thugs trying to subdue him. One soldier dared to stand in front of him to impede his progress, but a swift backhand saw to it that that thug went swirling in the air. Others tried jumping onto his small shoulders only to have the palms of their hands, stomach, or chests partially impaled by the spikes on the lombax's armored shoulder plates. And with a powerful whip of the lombax's forearm--and fore blade--across the face of a thug, he gouged him, disfiguring him forever. The lombax left thugs in his wake--bloodied, maimed, or dead. The rest of them wised up to this realization and eschewed the lombax.

There was nothing standing in the way between the general but Captain Natasha and Stravek Thratcher.

The lombax stopped in front of Captain Natasha and Stravek, looking at each of them as if they were willing to move out of his way or _to be moved_. They stared at each other, cracking a mischievous smile.

"Be my guest, Captain. He's all yours," Stravek said with seriousness.

Natasha smirked, "How about we take him together?"

"Okay, let's do it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Together, they got into their battle poses. In response, the lombax motioned forth another step, daring them to try him. In a flash, Natasha's boot smashed into the lombax's visor, peeling back his head in a painful way. From behind, she bent low for Stravek to follow up with a drop kick. He struck the lombax in the chest, adding to the imbalance of his footing. Natasha moved in for another attack, a quick sweep, and managed to trip the lombax onto his back. To finish the chain of combos, Stravek leapt onto the chest of the lombax and aimed his weapon at the lombax's helmet.

"Boom!" he said--and fired.

The thick, green energy blast of the mighty Thrasher Cannon was enough to force the lombax into the street--deeply. All around them, the street tore up from the ground in thousands of fragments. The force of the blast knocked Stravek back, but he remained unharmed unlike the last time he had pulled the stunt in Jakata. He landed on his feet some several feet back, blowing off the acrid smoke from the barrel of his favorite weapon. Natasha stood aside, putting her hands together and clapping.

"Good job! You didn't get hurt this time. _Lucky_ devil."

Stravek reached up with an arm, holding his chest and slowly shaking his head. "Nope. Not even a lombax can survives a blast like that up close."

"Indeed," said Natasha.

Filaments of concrete of what had been sent into the air from the street began raining down over the area where the lombax laid embedded with outstretched limbs. On parts of his battle armor, superheated with green plasma, it smoked and showed monstrous scorch marks. As for the lombax himself, he remained motionless for a short while.

"Like I saids, nothing can--"

The lombax grabbed the sides of the his makeshift entombment and slowly pushed himself out of it, rising from within the street in a casual manner. To Natasha and Stravek, it was as if a corpse had risen. The general blinked several times, reaching behind him and unsheathing his swords. It was time to end this foolishness.

In inadvertence, Stravek charged the lombax with his weapon held high above him. Natasha reached out to him with a hand and cried to stop him.

"Stravek! No!"

When the Manhunter came down with his weapon over the head of the lombax, the weapon didn't even faze the Veldin; it was like striking a solid object. His arms hurt from the repercussion of his weapon when it rattled hard. In return, the lombax reached for the weapon, tautly yanked the weapon from the Snivelakian, and crushed it in his gloved hands without so much as fidgeting, relinquishing what was left of the weapon afterward. Then he reared back an iron hard fist and punched the Manhunter squarely in the face. The sheer amount of force sent the lizard skidding back on the soles of his feet before he eventually tripped and tumbled back in the most agonizing way.

When Stravek's body stopped rolling, bringing him to a still on his stomach with his head turned away from the shabox, he didn't move anymore. Natasha's heart raced wildly as she ran across the street to him. She kneeled beside him and was reluctant to place a hand on his back, but forced herself to do so. She shook him softly, calling out his name.

"Stravek? Stravek?" she said, trying to rouse him. "Stravek? _Stravek_?" she choked in between sobs as deep-rooted emotions for him began to resurface. She gasped when she noticed a pool of blood escaping from beneath his head. He even bled from his ears. The Manhunter--was no more.

Natasha shook with furious anger. She turned back to look at the lombax, revenge burning in her eyes. She rose slowly to her legs and turned around to face her friend's killer. Then she raced toward him, leaping at him to deliver the strongest attack she could perform with a kick. The lombax sensed this and strafed enough for her to miss, catching her in midair by her throat with a big palm.

"Gag!" she sputtered, feeling the lombax's gloved hand squeezing the life out of her. Her eyes turned red. Her fur bristled all over. Her tail jerked wildly behind her struggling form.

The general pointed his long sword at the lombax and yelled at him. "Stop! You want me, right? Come get some, lombax."

The lombax dragged the shabox along with him for a couple of more feet before releasing her. She toppled on the street, holding her throat and gasping for air. Tears came rolling out from her eyes. Her fur remained perked up on their ends. She was still in shock from the unnatural amount of strength the lombax possessed.

In between quick breaths, "That's **not** Ratchet. That's . . ." she breathed strongly, closing her eyes and facing the sky. ". . . a _machine_."

The powerful lombax came up to the new thug leader and stopped in front of him. The legion of thugs surrounded the scene between their leader and lombax. They exchanged subtle glances, and then the gentle sway of the general's sword ordered the rest of them to spread out. The army extended their circle around the two, a couple of them pulling the injured Captain Natasha away from battle.

Without another word, the general came forcefully down on the lombax with his gigantic sword with a resounding _ping_. Where he struck the lombax, his sword dulled there, having become dented in a single blow. He brought out his other sword, and tried again to cause heavy damage to the lombax's armor. His swords slid diagonally across the chest plate and the abdomen of the lombax, igniting a series of sparks--but they didn't leave any deep, serrated wear behind. Not allowing the general to attack any further, the lombax withdrew his Omniwrench, and parried off the next series of strikes.

Together, they exchanged attacks and blocks, moving about the plaza. They came to a nearby light post, and the general slashed viciously there, severing the lamp in an instant. In retaliation, the lombax swung his Omniwrench back, forcing the general back to defend himself. The lombax's attacks came fierce and quick, barely giving the general enough time to respond.

When the lombax missed and struck the street with his weapon, it created a pothole; and during this time of the lombax's miss, the general took it upon himself to counter with a upward strike, creating more sparks along the lombax's mask. Then the lombax followed up with a deadly multi-strike, obliterating the sides of buildings and anything else it came into contact with.

After a while, they both learned each other's moves, more to the benefit of the lombax. The next miss accounted for with a swipe of the general's heavy blades, the lombax reached out to clutch one of the swords with a hand and shortened it with a snap. In surprise, the general leapt back, bringing up his broken sword for inspection.

"You're not the _lombax _I thought you were. You're simply a **machine**."--he began cackling--"But even machines can be broken." He tossed his broken sword aside and gripped his remaining sword in both hands, knowing he could strike faster and harder than before.

The general waited for the right opportunity to deceive the machine. He feigned to attack, and when the desirable reaction from the lombax occurred, he simply dodged and came down in a stabbing motion with both of his massive hands on the hilt of his sword--sending his long blade into the torso of the machine. A series of sparks and circuitry came out of the machine when the general kicked the lombax back with a boot, freeing his sword.

For a moment, the lombax looked down at his first true injury. He stared back up at the towering thug and his visor gleamed anew. To the thoughtlessness of the general, who decided to strike the lombax with a slash again, forgetting that it was futile to damage it that way, the machine brought up its hands and caught the sword in his palms. With a sudden jerk to the side, the sword broke just as instantly as the first. And not allowing the general any time for a reaction, the lombax flung the broken piece at the thug's foot, piercing it, followed by the noisome sound of torn flesh.

The general rang out in pain and stumbled forth a few steps, wanting to kneel down and remove the shard. In one final and fluid move, the lombax performed a comet-strike, throwing his wrench past the general in a wide arc. The Omniwrench flew around in a crescent and returned behind the general, knocking him upside the head. The blow was so profound that he fell forward on his knees and became dizzy; and with that, the lombax caught his wrench, turned it downward, and thrust it with a wide wrench extension.

He trapped the general by the nape of his neck in the wrench, forcing him to the ground. Unable to escape this new move, the battle ended with a quick turn of the wrench--snapping the general's neck. The general's massive body relaxed and fell flat. The battle was over. The thugs lost once again.

The surviving thug legion was instantly filled with devastation, demoralization, and distraught. There was nothing they could do. How could they possibly defeat something as advanced and dangerous as the armored lombax? They didn't know what to do. With the general defeated, their dreams of a unification dissipated in their minds as well. The thug order followed a simple code: whoever defeated the strongest among the their ranks became their new leader. And that title was now this machine's. Infernox's . . . .


End file.
